


When It Comes to Being Loved

by Sass_Master



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cabin Fic, Fireplaces, First Time, Future Fic, Intimacy, M/M, Nature, taking it slow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 05:32:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 37,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15503406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sass_Master/pseuds/Sass_Master
Summary: Dean’s extended period of self-discovery and inner reflection, of addressing all those fleeting little notions of his that maybe weren’t so little or fleeting after all, had culminated in one inescapable, terrifying fact.He’s in love with Cas. Hopelessly, completely, embarrassingly in love with him.They’ve just never had what they needed to explore this before, never had time, solitude, a real moment to breathe.But they have it now, Dean thinks. He’s made damn sure of that.





	When It Comes to Being Loved

It’s like he stepped into a goddamn postcard.

After a lifetime of roaming all over the country, exploring hidden paths and wandering into the wilderness, Dean’s been to his share of beautiful places, but he rarely takes any time to appreciate them.

This, though… this is worth appreciating.

Just catching sight of the scenery on the drive up to the cabin, half-hidden in the trees beside a secluded lake in the Rockies, Dean was already blown away. He could hardly take his eyes off of the mountains looming in the distance, all kinds of well-deserved hyperbole sprung to mind: pristine, majestic, _literally fucking breathtaking_.

He parks the car and steps outside, just drinking it all in for a minute, taking deep lungfuls of crisp, fresh air, listening to the birds chattering overhead. The sun damn near sparkles as it reflects off the smooth surface of the lake, the warmth of it melting the lingering dusting of snow on the ground.

It’s… _picturesque_. That’s not a word Dean often reaches for, but that’s the only way to describe it. Dean would’ve bet an obscene amount of money that shit just didn’t look this good in real life, that this kind of scene could only be a product of artistic license or Photoshop. He’s still not entirely convinced that this is real, even as he’s standing there gawking, so he slips his phone out of his pocket to snap a picture, just to prove that he’s not imagining it.

“This is nice.”

Cas’s voice breaks Dean out of his trance, and he hands Dean his duffel, the other bags from the trunk already slung over his shoulder.

Dean huffs out a laugh as they walk up the path and onto the front porch. “Yeah, you could say that.” Cas’s words might be understated, but Dean can tell he’s just as impressed as Dean is.

“Will Sam be meeting us here?”

Dean should have expected the question, really, but he fumbles for a response. “No, uh—” he attempts, suddenly very interested in a loose thread on the handle of his bag. “Sitting this one out,” he finally manages to explain. “Just you and me.” Just hearing himself say it out loud gets his heart beating a little faster.

Work has been slow lately. Well, it’s more like they’re not as quick to jump on a possible case as they used to be. Dean’s always thrown himself into hunting when he doesn’t want to be in his own head. Even he knows that’s an unhealthy coping mechanism, but he’s used to a lot of ugly shit rattling around in his brain that he doesn’t want to address.

Against his every conceivable expectation, those grim thoughts are starting to fade, and he’s settling into a quieter domestic life with something that feels like contentment.

Still, there are some nagging thoughts that he’s reluctant to acknowledge. Stuff that isn’t bad but, for Dean, might be even harder to face.

So he did what he usually does and dragged Cas out here, claiming he’d found a job. Except, well, maybe he wasn’t being entirely truthful about that. Sure, a couple of unexplained disappearances always has the potential to be _something_ , but in Dean’s opinion, it’s just as likely to be some lightweight teenagers getting shit-faced in the woods and stumbling into a ditch.

Either way, that’s not why they’re here.

This extended period of self-discovery and inner reflection, of addressing all those fleeting little notions of his that maybe weren’t so little or fleeting after all, had culminated in one inescapable, terrifying fact.

He’s in love with Cas. Hopelessly, completely, embarrassingly in love with him.

“All right,” Cas replies, giving Dean a look that goes right through him.

Dean gets caught up in that intense gaze so damn easily. He’d give anything to know what Cas is thinking sometimes, and he’s becoming increasingly convinced that all he’d have to do is find the nerve to ask.

“Do you have the keys?” Cas adds after a beat.

“Uh—” Dean says, awkwardly patting down his jacket. He’s not sure how long he just stood there staring, but it’s probably better if he doesn’t know. “Yeah, right here.”

He tries not to fumble as he unlocks the door, hyper-aware of Cas at his elbow. After his second attempt, the lock finally clicks open and they step inside.

Compared to the glory of the outdoors, the cabin’s a little worse for wear, but it’s nothing Dean’s not used to. It’s actually pretty nice, all things considered. Dean’s stayed in some _shacks_ in his time, and he’s learned to be grateful for electricity and running water when he can get it.

There’s even an actual kitchen with an actual stove – not some dinky wood-burning thing, but one Dean can really do something with. He’s glad he had the foresight to stock up on as much food as he could fit in the cooler. Sure, there’s a general store not too far away where they could grab some essentials if they need them, but if Dean has any say in it, they’re gonna leave this place as little as possible.

He might even go as far as to call it _cozy_ , and not in a bullshit real estate listing kinda way. He’s stayed in places like this with Sam over the years, but he didn’t realize how… _romantic_ it would feel with different company. He eyes the worn but comfortable-looking love seat in the corner, strategically positioned right in front of the fireplace, and his stomach flips as he notices that it’s barely big enough to fit them both. Dean’s lost to his imagination, helplessly picturing him and Cas together on that sofa, even warmer from each other’s presence than they are from the fire, but Cas’s voice abruptly pulls him back to reality.

“I’m going to put these bags down,” Cas announces, brushing past him to duck into what Dean can only assume is the bedroom. It takes Dean a couple of seconds too long before he realizes he should do the same.

Compared to the relatively open living area, the bedroom feels comically tiny. Some silly part of Dean’s brain was hoping that there would be only one bed, but even if there are two of them, the space between them is negligible. Dean heart starts thumping again; Cas will be so _close_ , too close for Dean to not have it constantly on his mind, like he always does when they share a room.

Dean would have thought he’d be getting used to it at this point. Cas is around all the time now—he’d started showing up at the bunker more often, staying for longer, and before Dean knew it, Cas was drinking coffee with him in the morning, stealing his shirts, claiming a room for himself and actually _sleeping_ in the bed. If Dean hadn’t seen evidence otherwise, he’d be convinced that Cas’s grace was gone, that’s how fully he’s settled into a mundane, human existence. Dean doesn’t get it, but he selfishly doesn’t question it either.

Maybe it got boring for Cas to exist in an uninterrupted stream, not even breaking it up with food or sleep. Dean tries to imagine what that would be like for him and, yeah, that would get pretty tedious. Cas says he enjoys those things for their own sake, which makes sense to Dean too – a good meal or a nap are still great even if you don’t necessarily _need_ them – but he’s surprised at the extreme Cas has taken it to. He even sweats and shaves and _showers_ now, which is just excessive, if you ask Dean. Not that he thinks about that too much. Well, if he’s being honest with himself about that kinda stuff now, maybe he’s thought about it, uh… a few times.

Cas has taken the bed closest to the door and is already unpacking his things. “How long ago did you say those people were reported missing?”

Dean nearly flinches at the question, the reminder of this whole ridiculous ruse, turning away to drop his stuff on the other bed. “’Bout four days now.” He does feel kind of bad about the deception, but hell, Cas has forgiven him for a lot worse, and vice versa.

“What do you think? Wendigo?”

Dean determinedly busies himself, eyes trained on the dresser as he pulls clothes out of his bag and shoves them into the drawers. “Hard to say.”

Cas hums noncommittally but doesn’t follow up. “Are you hungry?” he asks instead, and Dean can’t help but be relieved that he’s dropped the subject.

Dean pastes on a grin, feeling a flutter in his stomach when Cas smiles back at him. “I can always eat.”

Cas scoffs good-naturedly. “I’ll get the food out of the car.”

Dean feels an absurd sense of loss just from Cas walking out of the room.

That was exactly the thing for Dean – there was no particular moment, no ground-breaking epiphany that made him realize, made him _accept_ how he really feels. There’s always been that persistent little feeling in the pit of his stomach every time Cas touched him, smiled at him, said his name, saved his worthless ass for the hundredth time. It chipped away at Dean little by little, the disappointment akin to heartbreak every time Cas left, the utter joy and relief when he finally came back. And once Dean acknowledged how he felt, nurtured those emotions and let them grow, there was absolutely no getting away from them. Even he wasn’t good enough at denial to convince himself that all he wanted from Cas was platonic friendship.

And that made him realize that he’s gotta man up and lay it all on the table if he wants anything to change. He’s got no right to expect Cas to stay if he can’t be honest about how he feels, and he’s got no business wasting time considering how often they find themselves on death’s door. Dean can’t keep risking his life without Cas knowing how he feels—or finding out how Cas feels about him. Even if it’s not exactly what he wants, at least he knows. And it’ll still be good, because having Cas in his life is important no matter what.

But as far as actually doing anything about it, Dean had still found himself at a loss. For all that the bunker can feel stiflingly intimate with Cas around, it isn’t actually private. Even if Sam’s not in the room, Dean’s too chicken over the possibility. There are countless moments when it’s just him and Cas, and he starts to let his guard down, but he always, _always_ loses his nerve. He used to feel relieved once he took what would have been a nerve-racking conversation off the table. But by now, it’s started to frustrate him. He wants to take this chance with Cas. It’s scary as fuck, but he still wants to do it. The more time he spends with Cas, just enjoying their quiet downtime together, the more he gets a sense of what a life with him would be like. The reward far outweighs the risk, in Dean’s eyes.

So when he read about the disappearances – a stone’s throw from a cabin owned by an acquaintance in the business – he jumped at the opportunity to get Cas alone. _Really_ alone.

It’s just the two of them now, exactly what Dean wanted: no distractions, no excuses, no reason they can’t finally _do_ something. If only Dean could figure out how the fuck he’s supposed to go about it.

That night they eat together at the tiny kitchen table, settling into easy conversation. Dean loves talking to Cas – not about monsters, or angels, or demons, just stuff that doesn’t really matter. The movies Dean wants to show him, the book Cas is reading, whether cheesecake is considered a cake or a pie. (It’s definitely not a pie. Dean _knows_ pie. Cas does make some compelling arguments, though.)

They’re well past dinner and onto their second beer when Dean breaks out a deck of cards. There’s not much else to do around here, and it seems like a decent enough way to pass the time while Dean’s still procrastinating on his _mission_. The real challenge is finding a new game where Cas doesn’t go from _How do you play this?_ to handing Dean’s ass to him in the space of two rounds. It’s so unfair. Dean should stick to something that only involves luck.

After four defeats in a row, Dean decides intervention is in order. “Okay,” he says, laying down his losing hand dramatically and leveling Cas with an accusing stare. “You’re totally cheating.” He knows he’s pouting, but it’s only meant as a joke. Mostly.

“I’m totally not,” Cas deadpans, quirking an eyebrow as he takes a sip of his beer.

“Not buying it,” Dean replies as he jots down their scores for this round – as if it even matters anymore.

“We could go back to playing Spit,” Cas suggests.

“No, uh—” Dean had begged off from that game after one go ‘round. The first time he and Cas both tried to slap the same pile of cards, Cas’s hand settling heavily over his own, he knew he had to switch to another game before he embarrassed himself. “I’ve gotta good feeling this time. Definitely gonna steal the win out from under you.”

“That’s mathematically impossible,” Cas replies easily, the smug son of a bitch.

“I’ll make it work,” Dean grumbles, but his annoyance is only played up for show. He kind of loves when Cas gets like this, lets out that playful, sarcastic side that Dean’s always known existed but too rarely gets to see. He used to think it was unintentional, but nope, Cas knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Oh, I’m sure you will,” Cas says when he starts to gather up the cards. “I can go easy on you if you want, though,” he adds, shifting into a sly grin and _winking_ at Dean.

Dean forces a laugh as if that covers it up the way he’s flushing. He could swear Cas only grins wider. “Just shut up and deal, hot shot,” he mutters. It doesn’t come out nearly as snappy as he would’ve liked.

Dean can’t help but be drawn to the sight of Cas’s hands as he shuffles the deck, taking the opportunity to give Cas a lingering once-over while he’s focused on passing out the cards. He’s looking especially good today, wearing a plaid shirt that he actually bought himself instead of pilfering from Dean’s dresser. He’s got the sleeves rolled up, a few buttons undone, and Dean’s eyes wander helplessly from his forearms, to his chest, to the two-day stubble lining his jaw.

Cas juiced up in all his angelic glory is definitely a beautiful thing to witness, but there’s something about seeing him like this, casual and relaxed, turning off that immense power, that appealed to Dean too. It didn’t make him weaker, just… more accessible, no longer the untouchable, unknowable divine creature that Dean had met all those years ago.

“I read about some disappearances around here three years ago,” Cas says after a stretch of silence, thoughtfully rearranging his cards. Dean hasn’t even picked up his hand yet. “Two newlyweds vanished on their honeymoon in July, then a nature photographer a few months later. It doesn’t seem too likely that they’re related, but I suppose it’s possible. What do you think?”

“Uh, yeah. I dunno. Maybe,” Dean attempts, suddenly very interested in the peeling label on his beer bottle. When he sneaks a glance, he finds Cas looking at him with mild curiosity, maybe even suspicion. “Hey, let’s—let’s talk about it in the morning. Kinda tired, y’know? Long drive.”

“Of course,” Cas replies in that calm, caring way he does. “Why don’t we go to bed?”

Dean knows Cas doesn’t say that to be suggestive, but Dean’s brain short-circuits for a few seconds anyway. “Good idea,” Dean says with a yawn as he rises from his seat. The sight of Cas yawning right along with him is a sight he’s starting to get used to.

They gather up their near-forgotten dinner plates in almost perfect unison, and when they meet up at the kitchen counter to put them in the sink, Dean finds himself catching Cas’s gaze and holding it for longer than could really be called appropriate. But Cas just stares right on back, that ever-intense regard that makes Dean want to shy away even as he couldn’t possibly imagine looking anywhere else.

It’s one of those times that Dean wonders about all too frequently these days – times when everything around him screeches to a halt, and he almost feels like he could just lean in and kiss Cas, or at least fumble through a hasty confession. Like he could actually find it in him to lay every confusing, thrilling feeling on the table and hope for the best. But Dean never knows which of these moments is truly the right one. He’s not sure how to tell, and he’s not confident enough to just go for it anyway. Because even if he’s finally bold enough to _want_ to try, he’s still terrified of fucking it up. So, no. No, not right now. He’ll just… try again later.

“Um—” he attempts, effectively breaking the tension even though his heart’s still thumping in his chest. “Mind if I grab the bathroom first?”

Whatever was in Cas’s eyes starts to slip away too, and Dean can’t begin to imagine what the look on his face is supposed to mean. “Okay,” Cas says after a few beats, expression shifting into mild curiosity again.

Dean used to feel uncomfortable when Cas scrutinized him like that. It was always just… too much. It still is, actually, just in a very different way. “Cool,” Dean says, starting to back towards the bathroom. “Thanks, dude.” He’s well aware of how unnatural he sounds, but it’s too late to do anything about it now.

He tries to shuffle through the bathroom door and close it behind him as quickly as he can without making it completely obvious that he’s, well, _fleeing_. Once he’s safely shut in he leans against the sink basin, taking in a slow deep breath and trying to compose himself.

His heart still hasn’t settled, and then he looks in the mirror, he’s slightly dismayed to find that he’s noticeably frazzled.

God, he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing. Maybe he’s wrong about this whole thing—maybe it’s not worth risking what they have. Because what they have is good. Scary, complicated, but good. That’s enough, right? He could spend the rest of his days with things exactly how they are and be perfectly content.

…Right?

He always tries to tell himself that when the way forward seems too overwhelming and the promise of stability is too tempting a comfort to resist. But he always finds his mind wandering to the same places, sinking into the idea of embarrassingly domestic motifs, all those warm moments of human contact that he’s always denied himself but not-so-secretly yearned for. Things he might be able to have if he got his shit together.

He ducks right into the bedroom when he’s ready, avoiding seeing Cas but hearing his footsteps approach the bathroom, followed by the sound of the lock clicking closed. He sheds whatever clothing he can get away with quickly and pulls out the first comfortable thing he finds when he reaches into the dresser, undressed and in bed in record time.

He rolls over towards the wall, able to make out a few stars through the windows. He tries to slow his breathing when he hears Cas come in and shut the light off. Dean’s hyperaware of Cas’s presence between their beds, and in the dark and quiet, he allows himself to wonder what it would be like for Cas to get under the blankets and settle in beside him.

The sensation that sweeps through Dean when Cas climbs into his own bed instead can only be described as, if he’s being totally honest here, crushing disappointment. Even if his hopes were pretty unrealistic, that feeling is proof enough of how much he wants ( _needs_ ) this thing between him and Cas to be more.

The part of him that dares to be hopeful is pretty sure Cas feels the same way. He feels like he knows what it means when Cas looks at him a certain way, or he _thinks_ he does, but Cas has always had that intensity that simultaneously seems impossible to misinterpret and hopelessly cryptic. Dean doesn’t know how deep Cas’s feelings might run, if he’s as far gone as Dean is. Cas feels things differently, in a way. Dean probably does too.

And even if Cas is pining for something more with Dean too, he might not know that that’s really an option. Dean’s kinda to blame for that. He hasn’t exactly been an open book with Cas – that’s by design, of course, but man, has that come back to bite him in the ass now – and it’s unfair to expect him to see through the posturing, the gruff dismissals and the sarcastic remarks. Because as often as he gets caught staring and thinks _Jesus Christ, could I be any more obvious?_ those longing gazes aren’t exactly new. Cas must be used to Dean looking at him that way and absolutely nothing changing between them, Dean holding him at arm’s length when he starts to get too close.

Of course, this is Cas he’s talking about here – he probably sees right through Dean’s bullshit. But ultimately he’s too respectful of Dean’s right to stubborn denial, too careful and wary of setting Dean off, even if he’s clearly acting against his own interests. There’s no limit to how contrary Dean can be if he’s feeling exposed or vulnerable.

So yet again Dean arrives at the same conclusion: he’s gotta be the one to make the first move here, or at least give Cas a _much_ clearer invitation. And he’s gonna do it, goddammit, even if it takes all week, because if he doesn’t do it now, he might chicken out of ever trying again.

He knows he’s pushed Cas away so many times, and he just hopes it’s not too late to pull him back, that he hasn’t fucked everything up beyond repair. But Cas has never given up on him entirely, and that, at least, is an encouraging thought. Dean doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve Cas’s devotion, but he’s over trying to fight it, wants to show Cas that his affections aren’t misplaced. He’s just gotta figure out how.

“Dean?”

Dean’s heartbeat picks right back up at the sound of Cas’s voice. “Yeah?” he asks when he remembers to breathe, mind racing and throat dry, painfully conscious of how Cas is only a few feet away.

“Good night.”

“Uh, yeah,” he replies, still tripping over his words. “G’night.”

Dean lies there awake in the dark for a while, making every effort to steel his resolve. And do better tomorrow. Because he _knows_ that this is what he wants, what they’ve been unavoidably building to for a damn decade now. They’ve just never had what they needed to explore this before, never had time, solitude, a real moment to breathe.

But they have it now, Dean thinks as he finally lets the fatigue take over, eyelids drooping and limbs heavy. He’s made damn sure of that.

*   *   *

Castiel has grown to enjoy sleep. He finds it restful, even if he doesn’t truly need it to restore energy, his grace more than capable of filling that role on its own. Of course, for all that sleeping is strictly voluntary on Castiel’s part, mornings still seem infinitely disagreeable. He not an early riser, by any means, but he found himself stirring at the break of dawn today, woken by birds chirping in the pale sunshine – and maybe it was just that that roused him from sleep, the noise and the light streaming through the window, but maybe it was something else entirely. Maybe he has other things on his mind that render deep sleep a mere fantasy.

He blinks away the grogginess and glances over at Dean, still asleep, a charming silhouette against the bright backdrop of the windows. Castiel tries not to stare. He knows Dean doesn’t seem to appreciate being watched like this, but he’s never been able to help himself. It hasn’t gotten any easier to resist since he’s fully understood exactly why he found the sight of Dean’s face so compelling.

Castiel can’t speak to any firsthand knowledge – or experience with – the different kinds of affection that humans are capable of. For a long time, he wasn’t entirely sure that they would even apply to him.

But the longer Sam and Dean were in his life, the more his relationship with them grew, and the more he understood that his feelings for the two of them weren’t entirely the same. He does have a stronger bond with Dean of course, he always has, but it’s also… _different_.

Once the thought entered his mind, he was determined to dissect it, to parse it into tangible pieces: the way his heart pounds when Dean comes into a room, the pleasant flutter in his stomach when he makes Dean laugh or smile. The abject terror that overwhelms him if Dean’s in danger.

He’s seen things like this on television, read about it in enough stories, both ancient and modern, to know he’s a textbook example of someone in love. Love isn’t about checking boxes or meeting criteria, so it wasn’t just empirical evidence that convinced him. It’s how he feels. He just _knows_.

Castiel just wants to be near Dean, is reluctant to leave him and eager to return in a way he never has been with Sam, regardless of how much Castiel cares for him. But his love for Dean isn’t just incomparable to how he feels about Sam, but incomparable to… _everything_. He’s never known anything like this, save for, perhaps, his since-diminished devotion to God and heaven.

But that was different. Heaven wasn’t chosen, didn’t earn Castiel’s love; he was born into it, expected to have it without question. He was part of something, dedicated to it, but not in a way that made him feel whole, merely a cog in the machine. Meeting Dean, taking this path with him, made him feel like a person – complete, fulfilled, actualized.

The moment they first crossed paths did have an element of the divine, of fate intervening, but since then, it’s been their journey, their decisions and struggles and triumphs. Castiel didn’t have to choose Dean again and again and _again_ , but he did. And he still would, every time.

Castiel’s never been more certain about his feelings, and yet he hasn’t managed to cross that last hurdle, make that final leap of faith. So here he and Dean are, in separate beds, Castiel looking on in longing, daring to think about how it could be different. The idea of sleep became even more appealing when he thought about doing so beside Dean, waking up beside him. He supposes that, without it, he could always watch over Dean while he slept, but Castiel suspects that it wouldn’t be the same. The way things stand now, though, he’s not likely to find out.

Unwilling to dwell for too long, Castiel quietly untangles himself from his sheets, in search of a shower. Sleep was only the first human necessity that Castiel chose to regularly partake in, but as he spent more idle hours in the bunker with Sam and Dean, more followed. Sitting for meals with them was a natural next step – not just observing but actually partaking, even if it doesn’t quite taste the same as it would if he weren’t an angel. It’s still interesting, still satisfying, especially when it’s Dean’s cooking. Castiel knows that it means a lot to Dean that he eats. He’d protested, once, that the food would be wasted on him when he didn’t need it, and Dean should save more for himself. That hadn’t gone over particularly well.

It had only seemed natural to continue down that path, take up more of those mortal habits and idiosyncrasies, fall into his own circadian rhythms. Dean had found that odd, at first, perhaps even worrisome, that Castiel was adopting an unmistakably human lifestyle. He seems to have stopped questioning it. It was only after reflection that Castiel understood it himself.

Eliminating all distraction used to be necessary when his focus was trained on something as all-consuming as carrying out heaven’s mission. He couldn’t afford to occupy his mind or time with frivolous maintenance or simple pleasures. But his duties nowadays are far less demanding, and he finds himself with more and more idle moments to fill as the weeks go on. There was something appealing about falling into a routine to break up the monotony and create a sense of structure – still adhering to a regimen but one that he chose and one in which he actually finds enjoyment and comfort. A sense of peace he hadn’t known he needed or was missing out on.

Keeping his vessel in peak condition, after all, isn’t entirely a passive act. He has to concentrate on healing a wound, and it’s the same for alleviating hunger or easing fatigue – or even something as mundane as stopping the growth of his hair and fingernails. It’s not terribly taxing, but it’s an inaudible, unsettling hum that’s always buzzed under his skin, and he couldn’t have anticipated what a relief it was for it to stop, for him to just let go and let this body exist naturally. It’s left him feeling centered, grounded, _present_ , everything that Castiel’s needed. It’s what Dean’s been needing from him too.

Castiel’s not stupid or blind. He’s seen how Dean looks at him every time he leaves, the disappointment and hurt in his eyes that he quickly transmutes into irritation, into passive aggression that Castiel struggles to interpret. Castiel would love to say that Dean’s overreacting, but he _does_ leave, sometimes for long stretches and without much warning, though it pains him to do it a little more each time.

What Dean seems not to realize – what Castiel has obviously failed to make clear – is how much Castiel would prefer to never leave his side. Business simply takes him elsewhere, sometimes, but he spends all his time away longing to return, to be where he really wants to be.

Castiel is convinced that the true nature and intensity of his feelings must be obvious by now, which does make him wonder what exactly is holding Dean back. Maybe what Castiel’s mistaken for denial is actually a lack of interest or reciprocated sentiment on Dean’s part. It’s an ugly, heartbreaking possibility, but one he must acknowledge and prepare himself for, simply for the sake of self-preservation. Or perhaps Dean is closing himself off to Castiel’s affections not because of disgust, but his horrendously low self-esteem, unable to see how deeply Castiel’s feelings run because he thinks he’s undeserving. That’s heartbreaking too, in an entirely different way.

Or maybe Dean understands Castiel’s interest perfectly well, even reciprocates it, but is too stubborn, too _scared_ to do anything about it or admit he feels the same. Dean’s rarely one to back down from a challenge, has bravely stood toe-to-toe with the utmost of evil creatures. But when it comes to matters of the heart he’s far more withdrawn, as close to cowardice as Castiel ever sees him. As frustrating as Castiel finds that at times, as much as it speaks to emotional stunting that Dean would do well to grow beyond, Castiel can see that Dean’s hesitation might not be totally unfounded in this case. It makes sense that his insecurity and fear of abandonment would suffocate him when it does often seem, by all appearances, that Castiel always has one foot out the door.

And that, in many ways, is the crux of the changes he’s made: showing Dean that he’s committed, that this simple human life, with him, can be enough, _more_ than enough. He’s not just willing to settle for it, it’s what he wants. If letting go of some trappings of divinity means he gets to be more wholly devoted to Dean, if that’s a choice he has to make, it’s an easy one.

His vessel doesn’t just have to be a shell or a tool. It’s felt like his for so long now, and he wants to really _live_ in it. Making a home with Dean starts with being at home in his body, and it’s undeniable how right that feels, that it it’s not much of a sacrifice at all.

Keeping clean, as tedious as it seemed at first, is a part of that. He shuts himself in the bathroom, brushes his teeth while the shower heats up, undresses and peels back the curtain. Standing under the hot spray, he tries not to let his mind wander, as it sometimes does, as it’s done only more often lately—more time spent living like a human, perhaps. Or just more time spent with Dean. It’s tempting enough being alone with Dean and having him so close, even harder not to spin that temptation into fantasy at this particular moment, when he’s so aware of his own body, _all_ of it, his own hands on his slick, bare skin. Falling for Dean had proven that he wasn’t as numb to emotional needs as he’d initially thought; more recently, he’s discovered he’s not immune to physical needs either.

But he's made it this far being able to maintain his self-control, and he’s not about to let it crumble now, no matter how many vivid images his mind conjures up. He turns off the water instead, stepping out and drying off before seeing what he can do about breakfast.

He shuffles into the kitchen, yawning. He could banish that lingering fatigue with nothing but a thought, but nowadays, he prefers to do that with coffee. His grace is more effective than caffeine, of course, but taking that route would deny him the ritual he’s come to treasure – sitting and chatting with Dean over their morning cup, Dean still blinking sleepily, voice slow and deep.

He quickly tracks down the coffee maker and a can of grounds and gets a pot started. He peruses the cabinet for mugs, grabbing one for himself and leaving another on the counter for Dean.

He and Dean have just been in this strange limbo for so long now, he thinks as he waits for the coffee to brew. He’s simply gotten used to how he feels about Dean, to existing with it and not knowing what he’s able to ask for, uncertain if Dean feels the same or if he ever will. Castiel is aware that there are ways to find out, but… perhaps his reservations aren’t so far from Dean’s, and this is just one thing he’s never able to be brave about. The risks are too great, and he’s not willing to lose Dean by being too greedy.

He’s seated at the table with his coffee, looking over some things on the laptop, when Dean finally emerges from the bedroom, still bleary-eyed and sleep rumpled. Castiel feels a slight uptick in his pulse, beating even more rapidly when they lock eyes and Dean gives him a lopsided grin.

“You’re up early,” Dean remarks, smirk forming on his face. “For once.”

Castiel would normally play along with Dean’s teasing, but he’s hopelessly distracted by the enchanting picture Dean makes, hair mussed, sleep marks still creased into his cheek – a sign that he rested well, something Castiel’s glad to see. “There’s coffee,” he says instead, clearing his throat.

The sincere smile on Dean’s face doesn’t settle Castiel’s heart at _all_. “Thanks, Cas,” Dean says, helping himself to a cup.

Castiel tries to go back to focusing on the job at hand and not get too caught up in Dean’s presence. He rereads the brief article about the disappearances, but there’s not much information there. He’s already done some research on the area – some of its history, its record of incidents like these – but there’s been no noticeable rise in missing persons reports, no records of mysteriously slain animals, no deaths that can’t be explained by natural phenomena.

He might not have as much experience working cases like this as Sam and Dean do, but the more he digs, the less convinced he is that this is even “their kinda thing” at all. Maybe Dean just jumped the gun, or he decided to be overly cautious. Or maybe, as he so often does, he just needed an excuse to get out on the road for a while. There are all sorts of plausible explanations for why Dean was so eager to pursue a case that doesn’t seem much like a case at all, but Castiel can’t help but wonder.

He has his suspicions about why he and Dean are here. It’s not like Dean to leave Sam out like this, and a hopeful part of Castiel’s brain can’t help but think that there were other motives at play.

“Should we interview the next of kin today?” Castiel asks as Dean reaches for the pot and fills his mug.

Dean seems caught off-guard, and Castiel watches, fascinated, as his cheeks start to turn pink. But he brushes it off quickly and pastes on a grin. “Whoa, slow down buddy,” he says with forced joviality, a carefully crafted hint of a laugh. “Coffee first. And breakfast,” he adds after a beat.

“Okay,” Castiel says slowly, lifting one eyebrow. Castiel doesn’t think it would be paranoid to call Dean’s reaction somewhat suspect. He’s never had a problem diving into work first thing in the morning that Castiel’s ever seen. And if Castiel didn’t know any better, he’d say Dean looks a bit nervous, growing more flustered the longer Castiel studies him, eventually turning away in search of food.

It’s in moments like these that Castiel wonders if he’s been too defeatist over his situation with Dean, too preoccupied with his own feelings to see things the way they really are. It’s not like he’s never noticed Dean looking at him when he thinks Castiel’s attention is elsewhere, hurriedly glancing away when he’s caught, the tips of his ears turning red. It’s terribly endearing, only deepening Castiel’s infatuation.

Castiel is aware of the way Dean reacts to him, the way Dean looks at him—behavior that he could easily write off as nothing, _has_ written off as nothing, knowing that given Dean’s confused, conflicted feelings, his actions might not mean what it seems like they do. But if he opens his mind up to the possibility, he thinks he understands that look now, recognizes it because it’s no doubt the same expression he has on his own face whenever Dean is around. A certain yearning and affection, some unbearable mixture of misery and hope.

Maybe something’s changed between them after all, too slowly and subtly for Castiel to notice. Maybe Dean’s been doing some self-reflection of his own.

Castiel lets Dean’s strange behavior go for the moment, lets Dean get some food together and eat it uninterrupted, but as soon as his plate is clear and he’s downing the last sip of coffee, Castiel tries again. “So,” he says expectantly. “Interviews today?”

Dean hides it a little better this time, but there’s still something noticeably stiff in his frame, something about that question that makes him uneasy. “Actually,” he says, clearing his throat. “I thought maybe we could do a little more research first.”

It’s undoubtedly bizarre that Dean, of all people, would stall at this stage instead of forging ahead to get out and do the _real work_. Castiel eyes him coolly, trying not to look too dubious. “Was there a particular book you thought we should reference?” he asks, knowing perfectly well that, judging by how light his bag was, Dean hasn’t brought along any books at all.

“Uh, no,” Dean says, licking his lips. “The usual—y’know—” he adds with a vague gesture towards the laptop, “—is fine.”

“I’ve already done _the usual—y’know_ ,” Castiel replies. “It’s like I said last night. I looked into local disappearances, everything that might be a red flag, and I didn’t come up with anything. I even widened my search to a 10-mile radius and still couldn’t piece anything together.”

“Maybe we should try a 20-mile radius then,” Dean says, as if even he can’t believe he’s suggesting it.

“That seems excessive.”

“I mean hey, wider net—couldn’t, hurt, right?” Before Castiel can further argue how absurd that is, Dean slaps his palms decisively on the table, pushing back in his chair. “Think I’m gonna shower though,” he says quickly, already rising from his seat. “You get started – I’ll catch up.”

Castiel’s eyes trail after him as he leaves, slightly incredulous. It’s an obvious stalling tactic, but he’s not certain of what Dean’s goal is here.

Castiel makes a half-hearted attempt at more research, not really intending to follow through on Dean’s suggestion. Although, that would at least stop his mind from wandering, letting himself fixate on the fact that Dean is undressed only a few feet away. He also takes far longer to shower than he normally does, and Castiel wonders if that’s more stalling on Dean’s part, or he’s—well, that train of thought is probably not a great idea either.

When Dean returns, he sweeps into the room with purpose, sliding back onto his chair. “I was thinking,” he announces. “Teenagers are always blabbing about their lives online, right?”

“Right,” Castiel says reflexively, trying not to let his eyes linger on the stray water droplets clinging to Dean’s neck.

“So y’know, we could see if there’s anything on their social media that might help,” he explains with a veneer of confidence that seems thin in Castiel’s eyes. “Twitter, Instagram, uh… Facebook? Do kids still use Facebook?”

Castiel looks at him blankly.

Dean continues. “Guess we’ll find out, huh?” he says with a too-loud laugh, pulling out his cell phone.

Castiel was able to suspend disbelief for a while, but Dean has complained about youth internet culture loudly and often in the past, and Castiel is justifiably dubious that he’d suggest something like this over something more hands-on. Dean is quite clearly avoiding something, and Castiel can’t think of anything he’s more averse to facing than his own feelings.

He looks up from the laptop screen to find Dean watching him, flinching as he’s caught, blushing as he lets his eyes drop back to his phone. Castiel’s stomach flips, heart beating a bit faster, because he’s nearly convinced now. He’s not wrong about this.

The realization is almost enough for him to step up and reveal _his_ feelings, regardless of his misgivings. But he wants to see where this is going, how whatever turmoil is spinning in Dean’s head is going to culminate. He doesn’t want to scare Dean off by rushing into things, but he’ll gladly meet Dean halfway if he’s sure that Dean’s willing to take that step himself. It’s a careful line to toe, being encouraging but not too pushy.

And he’s not letting Dean push _him_ away either. He’s not going anywhere—never would, in any context. Even if…. Even if this isn’t what Castiel is sort of hoping it is, he’s selfishly enjoying this time alone with Dean. Just being able to be by his side is what really matters.

He can be patient. He’s managed so far.

Castiel isn’t all that enthused about Dean’s current choice of research either, but he plays along, dutifully scrolling through all manner of adolescent exuberance and drama while Dean paces around the room, supposedly doing his own investigating on his phone.

“Amy Mulholland was very excited about her ‘promposal’ last month,” Castiel reports after a long stretch of silence, leaning on the table with his chin in one hand.

“The hell is a promposal?”

Castiel sighs. “Exactly what it sounds like.” After another ten minutes of digging, he sighs again. “Further research indicates that Sebastian Nichols thinks his physics teacher is an asshole. Do you think that’s relevant?” he asks facetiously.

Dean briefly glances up at Castiel with an inscrutable expression but says nothing.

“Maddie Larsen ‘luvs pancakes,’” Castiel deadpans, ignoring the repeated exclamation marks in her Instagram caption. “Pancake emoji, pancake emoji, heart eye emoji.”

Dean snorts at that. He’s still staring resolutely at his phone, but his gaze looks far away. Castiel’s sure he’s not really seeing anything.

Castiel closes the lid of the laptop with an air of finality, quirking an eyebrow at Dean. “Are _you_ finding anything useful?”

“Uh—” Dean says, stopping mid-step, noticeably distracted. “Not yet.”

Castiel watches intently as Dean licks his lips and resumes his pacing. He tilts his head slightly, concern overriding his amusement at Dean trying to act like everything’s normal. “Are you all right?”

Dean swallows. “Just—hungry,” he says haltingly. “Maybe we should break for lunch,” he suggests, marching over to the fridge and peering inside.

Castiel follows and takes note of the way Dean tenses when Castiel sidles up behind him, can feel the nervousness radiating from him in waves. Castiel feels a pang of sympathy for Dean’s internal struggle. “Are you sure you’re all right?” he asks, softer this time, hand on Dean’s arm.

“Yeah, I’m—” Dean starts to say, but when he turns to look at Castiel something makes him pause. “Actually,” he says at length, closing the door again, jaw clenched, faint tremor in his fingers. “I gotta tell you something.”

“All right,” Castiel says, trying to keep his tone light.

“I—” Dean falters again, something wild and desperate in his eyes. Castiel holds his breath. “Look, can we sit?” Dean says instead.

“Of course,” Castiel agrees readily, wondering if Dean feels like he needs to hide behind a physical barrier in order to not feel emotionally exposed.

Castiel returns to his chair, observing Dean carefully. He’s visibly nervous now—all the things he’s stood up to in his life and this is what makes him nervous. _Castiel_ makes him nervous. Castiel aches to reach out to him and sooth his worries, but he’s determined to let Dean have his say first, on his own terms.

After a few moments, it seems that Dean can’t stand the silence anymore. “There’s no case,” he says abruptly, shifting in his seat.

Castiel pauses thoughtfully for a moment, not wanting to give away his suspicions too soon, giving Dean a chance to say more. “Did you find something?” he asks, when Dean offers no additional explanation.

Dean shakes his head. “Never thought there was one to begin with,” he says quietly. “Just had something on my mind. Something I wanna talk to you about— _been_ wanting to talk to you about.”

“I’m listening.”

Dean won’t quite look Castiel in the eye, fingers nervously picking at an imperfection in the table’s wooden surface. Castiel waits.

“You and me, we’ve always…” he starts shakily, then sighs and collects himself. “There’s always been—something, I dunno. Maybe you didn’t think I saw things that way. Maybe I wanted you to think that,” he pauses, shaking his head. “But it’s not true.”

Castiel’s heart starts to pound again.

It takes a while, but Dean eventually summons up the courage to continue. “Once I realized—once I _admitted_ —Just couldn’t stop thinking about it,” he says, voice so quiet it’s almost inaudible. “And I just—” Dean catches his eye then, and Castiel doesn’t know what Dean sees on his face, but it makes him falter, lapse into silence and drop his gaze again. When he finds it in him to lift his head again, his face is determined. “Cas,” he says, surprisingly sharp. “You get it, right? Why I invited you out here?”

There’s a part of Castiel that still hesitates, that microscopic grain of doubt that tells him it’s still too soon to assume anything. But the voice that tells him he’s being foolish is much louder. Dean’s come so far, put his feelings on the line as much as he can, relying on Castiel to bridge the gap. Castiel can see it, the way Dean is silently pleading with him to understand, to take the next step because he’s walked as far down this path as he can go. Castiel would do anything to alleviate his fears. And if all that takes is being honest, finally opening up about the deep feelings he’s been harboring for _years_ , then Castiel sees no reason to wait anymore.

Instead of answering right away, he tentatively reaches for Dean’s hand, gratified when Dean allows it, lets Castiel curl his fingers around Dean’s. “I do,” he says gently, thumb stroking Dean’s knuckles, like he’s wanted to do for years.

“Okay,” Dean says, swiping his other hand across his face, voice still wavering. “Okay, that’s good.”

Castiel smiles at how endearingly awkward he is, how his emotions are swimming terribly close to the surface but he’s continuing anyway. “I’m glad you told me.”

Dean laughs shakily, almost deflating in relief. “Took me long enough, huh?”

This is what Castiel always wants for him, his worries alleviated and his mind set at ease. Castiel’s glad he can provide that, humbled that the confirmation of his feelings can put that look on Dean’s face. “I think we both could have moved a little more quickly,” Castiel replies, smiling indulgently.

Castiel won’t let him bear that burden alone; they’re both responsible, too caught up in their own doubts and insecurities. Part of him laments the wasted years, but maybe they weren’t wasted at all – maybe everything happened exactly the way it needed to in order to get them here. It took some time, but they made it. That’s what matters.

Dean clears his throat, looking sheepish. “Sorry I faked a hunt just to get you out here,” he says, playful but with a hint of genuine regret.

Despite his palpable reluctance, Dean lets his hand slip from Castiel’s grasp. Castiel already misses it terribly, but it’s a heady thrill to know that for once, this won’t be the only chance he has. He has a solid week of chances ahead of him, maybe more.

“You can make it up to me,” Castiel says breezily, a faint smile on his face. He didn’t mean for it to sound suggestive, but he can’t regret it when he sees the interest shining in Dean’s eyes, the flush on his face. Castiel’s feels an unfamiliar thrill shoot through him over making Dean blush. He’s looking forward to doing it again. Castiel lets the charged silence sit for a moment, thoroughly enjoying it, before breaking it. “You knew all along that it was nothing? Even from the beginning?” he asks, legitimately curious. He’s seen less telling cases turn into something serious, and more suspicious scenarios turn out to be false alarms. Their _research_ didn’t reveal anything definite, but Castiel thought there were enough signs to not rule out a creature entirely.

Dean shrugs. “I mean, I thought it was possible, but I wasn’t really convinced it was our kinda thing. And I can’t say I’m more convinced now.” He pauses for a second and Castiel can see the gears working in his mind, the seriousness taking over his expression. “Though I guess I’m not any _less_ convinced either. Shit.”

He meets Castiel’s gaze, and Castiel can see the guilt settling in. Castiel steadily maintains the eye contact, waiting for Dean to continue.

“I know this wasn’t supposed to be a work trip,” Dean says, sounding apologetic. Castiel takes a brief second to appreciate the reminder that Dean had other plans for them, insistent curiosity about what he had in mind. “But maybe, uh. Maybe we should look into it a little more? While we’re here.”

Something warm and fond settles in Castiel’s belly. Dean’s drive to save those in need is both endearing and admirable, a fundamental trait that makes Dean who he is. That makes him someone Castiel cares so deeply about.

Castiel smiles reassuringly. “So we’re doing interviews after all?”

To his surprise, Dean balks at the suggestion. “Well, uh—” he pauses, eyes darting away. “Not that, maybe.”

Castiel raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I—uh,” Dean starts to explain, squirming with embarrassment in a way that Castiel finds terribly charming. “I didn’t pack a suit.”

Castiel laughs, noting how sure Dean was that they wouldn’t be working. “The campsite then?” Castiel suggests. “On the hiking trail – the last place they were seen. It’s not far.”

“Yeah, okay,” Dean says, relaxing and smiling again. “Lunch first though.”

Castiel shoots him a look.

“Not stalling,” Dean’s quick to clarify, chuckling. “Just hungry.”

“All right then,” Castiel agrees with a soft smile of his own, for once not fighting to disguise the affection in his voice. “Lunch first.”

*   *   *

Dean’s familiar with the cliché, feeling like a weight’s been lifted off your shoulders. But as universal as that concept is, he’s not exactly used to experiencing it first hand, more accustomed to taking burdens on than letting them go.

He finally gets it. Now that he’s been honest with Cas, that underlying sense of dread, that ball of fear and anxiety that sat heavily in his chest, has suddenly lightened, and he’s honest-to-god giddy over it, not just with relief but with _possibility_.

In a way, that sets off a different kind of nervousness, being so close to Cas, so alone with him. Cas, who knows exactly how Dean feels about him. Who, by some miracle Dean can’t make sense of, seems to feel that way about Dean too.

Cas is with him in this, and thinking about how they’ve got this secluded (kinda romantic) cabin to themselves for a while definitely gets his heart and mind racing, and he’s restless with anticipation all over again. But it’s not a bad sense of anticipation, for all that it’s still kind of terrifying. Looking forward to good things is a novel experience for him.

He’s not sure what those _good things_ are, exactly, how they’ll get to them, how long it’ll take. Though he does have some ideas. Dean took a huge step, or at least what felt like one to him, but they’ve got a long way to go. How things play out from here, he can’t really say.

Maybe the ball is in Cas’s court now. That might work in Dean’s favor; he’s not exactly good at asking for what he wants. Then again, he’s not really used to trusting anyone to _give_ him what he wants either. And he probably owes Cas a little transparency after all his posturing and denial.

For the moment, all he manages is making moony eyes at Cas over his sandwich the entire time they eat lunch. He’d feel worse about that if Cas weren’t doing kinda exactly the same thing. It strikes Dean that it’s not all that different than how Cas has always looked at him. He can’t believe he ever convinced himself that it didn’t mean anything.

As much as Dean would have liked to take the car, it’s not really an option, so they head out on foot instead. That’s when he learns the hard way that he and Cas have entirely different definitions of what “not far” means.

“ _Five miles_?” he sputters indignantly when Cas drops that bit of information. “ _Up_ hill?”

“It will be five miles _down_ hill on the way back,” Cas says patiently. Dean can see that he’s trying not to roll his eyes.

Dean glares at him, pointing an accusing finger in Cas’s direction. “If I have a heart attack and die, you can skip the salt and burn cause I’m gonna haunt your ass for the rest of your life.”

Cas eyes him for a moment, a faint smile on his face that could pass for a smirk. “Noted,” he says, setting off up the path while Dean hastens after him.

Dean’s loud misgivings weren’t entirely for dramatic effect; it doesn’t take long for the hike to start wearing on him. But he does manage to keep his complaining to a minimum. Sort of. Cas, for his part, either ignores him or offers a sarcastic comment. Dean might be bothered by that if it didn’t speak to Cas’s level of comfort and familiarity with him. When he thinks of it that way, every exasperated look Cas sends in his direction gives him a little thrill.

Dean knows that Cas has been doing things the hard way lately instead of relying on his grace, but judging by how unfazed he is by the climb, Dean can’t help but suspect he’s cheating just slightly. Or maybe he isn’t, maybe he’s just got more endurance than Dean does. He doesn’t know whether to be annoyed or turned on by how easy Cas is making this look.

“Are we almost there?” Dean asks after a stretch of silence, not whining at all. “We’ve gotta be almost there, right?”

“About a mile left.”

“A _mile_?” Dean asks, disbelieving. He could swear they’ve been at this for hours already. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Most of the time,” Cas deadpans.

Dean’s startled into a laugh – Cas is such a little shit when he wants to be. “I hate you so much.”

Cas decides to be even more of a little shit and throw Dean a look that says they both know exactly how untrue that statement is. “I can come back for you if you can’t go on.”

“Oh, no,” Dean fires back, pointing an accusing finger at Cas. “You ain’t getting rid of me that easy.”

“What a shame,” Cas teases, and his hopelessly _fond_ expression is still something Dean doesn’t quite know how to handle. “Can you make it?” he asks, eyebrow raised. “Or will I have to carry you the rest of the way?”

“ _No,_ ” Dean says indignantly, blushing for a lot of different reasons. “I can do it.”

Cas just smiles at him knowingly and keeps walking.

Dean can admit that another mile’s walk isn’t so bad when he’s got Cas with him. When they finally get to the end of the trail, a quick search of the campsite doesn’t reveal anything useful, so they continue beyond it into the more untamed wilderness, looking for anything that might suggest some nasty creature’s been making itself at home.

The woods don’t seem any more promising at first, but as they travel deeper, Cas suddenly stops in his tracks. “Dean,” he says, resting a hand on Dean’s shoulder to get his attention. “Look.”

Dean follows Cas’s line of sight, and sure enough, there’s a cave visible through the trees, the kind of place a monster might lurk in. But at the moment, Dean’s more taken aback by the feeling of Cas’s hand on him. It’s only a casual, friendly gesture, the kind that used to not mean anything – or at least that’s what Dean always told himself. But now just the idea of Cas touching him is rendering him stupid, mouth dry and palms sweaty. “Yeah,” he says after a suspiciously long pause, finally managing to snap himself out of it. “Let’s check it out.”

Cas heads towards the cave’s entrance, and as he steps away from Dean, his hand slips gently down the length of Dean’s spine, resting on the small of his back for a too brief moment that gets heat pooling in Dean’s stomach. Because as far as Dean can recall, Cas has never touched him quite like that. If he has, it’s never been with _intent_ , never with Dean so starkly aware of how things stand between them. There as a time when Dean could easily brush something like this off, but there’s no way he can ignore it now. Abruptly he’s even more anxious to wrap this up, not just to put this arduous hike behind him but to get back to the cabin with Cas.

The cave is a bust: gross, dark, and cold, but ultimately not inhabited by anything sinister. The most interesting thing they find is a secluded spot with a patch of sun filtering through the ceiling, where teenagers apparently sneak off to drink crappy beer or whatever passes for a wild Saturday night in Podunk towns like this.

“Well, there’s nothing here,” Cas says, running the light of his flashlight along the trash littering the cave floor. “Unless you think we’re hunting a wendigo that’s developed a taste for beer.”

“Even a monster wouldn’t drink this shit,” Dean says with a scoff, kicking a can out of his way. “Kids these days. No taste.”

“Well you can’t expect them to measure up to _your_ level of sophistication,” Cas replies with amusement.

It strikes Dean that he isn’t the only one getting in touch with a side of himself he doesn’t normally get to explore. This is what it looks like when Cas lets his guard down, matching Dean quip for quip and playfully provoking him. Dean’s so fucking lucky that he gets to see this, that he inspires this in Cas.

“Damn right,” he says with a grin, all exaggerated smugness. “I’m classy as hell.”

Dean’s not prepared for the way Cas’s laughter makes his heart flutter, but he figures he’d better get used to it.

With nothing else keeping them here, Dean’s quick to suggest that they make their way back down the mountain. It’s a more leisurely trek on the way down – Dean’s exhausted but he doesn’t feel like he’s about to keel over anymore – and they speed things up by cutting through the trees instead of following the trail.

The thought of getting back to the cabin sets Dean’s mind running down a path he’d long told himself was forbidden, helplessly picturing all the things they could get up to _all by their lonesome_. But the simpler fantasies haunt him too, visions of them waking up together tangled in the sheets, of them taking a long drive just for the sake of enjoying each other’s company. Those thoughts have always felt more off-limits than the dirty ones.

For the first mile, all Dean can think about is how close they are, how the backs of their hands brush together with every step. What it might be like if Dean bridged the gap completely and tangled their fingers together.

He spends a long time trying to convince himself that he’s being stupid for pining after something so sappy, but every time he looks at Cas, he realizes he’s only fighting the inevitable, that eventually his true desires are going to win out no matter how good he is at pushing them down. Being out here, isolated and liberated, it’s so much easier to face what he wants and go for it, to reach over those last few inches and take Cas’s hand. Cas already did this before, he figures. He’s just following a precedent.

Dean can feel himself blushing furiously, heart thumping in his chest at the feeling of Cas’s warm, rough palm against his own. Christ, what is he, a sixth grader? He can’t quite meet Cas’s eye, but his embarrassment and vulnerability must be obvious, because Cas gives his hand a reassuring squeeze. Dean can see Cas’s soft smile in his periphery, and that stirs up a warmth inside him that lingers all the way down the mountainside.

With the ice finally broken, Dean’s able to spend the rest of the day feeling relaxed in Cas’s presence, over dinner, idle conversation, a few rounds of cards that Dean loses but isn’t too beat up over because he just likes spending time with Cas.

When they turn in for the evening, Cas is settling in the bedroom while Dean shuts himself in the bathroom, brushing his teeth far longer than necessary, mind working overtime wondering what’ll be different about tonight. If anything.

If he really thought about it, he’d probably figure that things between him and Cas would escalate pretty quickly once they actually took that leap. Which they _have_ , Dean remembers, the thought still making his heart lurch.

But he doesn’t know what to do with this… slowness. It’s hardly a bad thing, though. And in a way it does make sense – his awkwardness must be obvious to Cas, so maybe he’s just giving Dean space, or something. Dean can’t help but appreciate the thoughtfulness, because there is definitely a part of him that needs to ease into this despite how stupidly overdue it is.

Cas is already in the bed he’d chosen for their stay, idly scrolling on his phone, when Dean finally works up the nerve to come back to the room. He hesitates in the doorway, considering his options. He sneaks a glance at Cas in his bed, and the increasingly insistent part of him that has zero interest in being patient wants to give in to the tempting prospect of getting between the sheets with Cas, just say _fuck it_ and go for it, no matter how bold that seems. Then he eyes his own bed on the other side of the room, big and empty and not nearly as inviting as it should be after the afternoon he had. He takes a deep breath and climbs into it anyway. Apparently he’s been brave enough for today.

The bed’s comfortable enough, but he’s not exactly relaxed as he gets under the blankets. Sleep is the last thing on his mind. He looks over when Cas moves, stretching over to put his phone on the nightstand, and holds his breath when their eyes meet. Cas smiles at him, the same soft expression that he seems to reserve especially for Dean. Dean licks his lips, wondering if Cas is going to say something, if Cas is waiting for _him_ to say something, but before he can think himself into a panic, Cas reaches out towards the bedside lamp.

“Good night, Dean,” Cas says, eyes still trained on him intently.

Dean tries to summon up a smile too, to let his genuine affection for Cas override his nervousness. “Night, Cas.”

The room falls into darkness, but Dean’s too wired to sleep and just lies there stiffly, staring at the ceiling and listening to Cas’s gentle breathing.

Cas feels so fucking far away. He always has, Dean realizes, in a way, so maybe he oughta be used to that. But now that he knows what it’s like to have that closeness, he craves it so completely that it almost surprises him, surpassing want altogether and landing on _need_. He reminds himself how good it felt when he was honest with Cas about his feelings, when he finally gave in and held Cas’s hand. Maybe he’s not done stepping outside his comfort zone today after all.

“Hey, Cas?”

At first, all Dean gets in response is a low hum that he takes for acknowledgment. He’s not sure if he just woke Cas up, but the deep rumble of his voice _does_ things to Dean. “Yes?”

“You, uh—you warm enough?” So maybe it’s not the most direct approach, but hey, he’s trying. Baby steps.

“I’m fine,” Cas replies, tone inscrutable.

“Oh,” Dean says inanely. “It’s just, uh. The insulation kinda sucks in here, and it was supposed to get pretty cold tonight, so…” Dean trails off, babbling, grateful that the flush creeping up his face can’t be seen in the darkness.

Cas is quiet for a moment. “Are _you_ cold?” he asks eventually.

Dean turns onto his side to face Cas, licking his lips again, heart rate spiking. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Little bit.”

Cas hums again, and the sound of it gives Dean goosebumps. “Dean,” he says, amusement creeping into his voice. “Are you suggesting we share body heat?”

With the moonlight streaming through the window and Dean’s eyes finally adjusting to the dark, he can just make out the smirk on Cas’s face.

Suddenly Dean feels like an idiot, but in a weirdly good way. After everything that happened today, he should’ve known that Cas would be on board with this. All Dean had to do was ask. And judging by Cas’s swift inference, he’s probably been thinking about this too. “Uh,” he says, a faint laugh sneaking up on him. “Maybe.”

Instead of replying, Cas just flips his blankets aside and rises to his feet, closing the short distance between their beds before Dean even fully processes what’s happening. He scrambles to pull the covers back and scoot back to make room for Cas, enough for him to fully get in, but, y’know, why put more space between them than they need to?

Cas pulls the quilt back over the both of them as he situates himself on the mattress, head on Dean’s extra pillow. “Is that better?” he asks, fond, sincere and teasing all at once.

“Yeah,” Dean replies, another breathy laugh escaping. “Definitely an improvement.”

For a moment Cas just looks at him, his scrutiny making Dean squirm. “You don’t need a ruse to get me into bed with you,” he says, voice warm.

“I know,” Dean admits sheepishly. “Just seemed easier.” The more accurate explanation is that he just didn’t know how to do it. He’s usually good at this kinda stuff—though that’s the problem, isn’t it, because this thing with Cas isn’t anywhere close to _this kinda stuff_ as Dean usually knows it. Flirting, sex, all of that, he does okay, knows the tricks and the nuances. But something real, with actual feelings involved? Not exactly his wheelhouse.

This is truly uncharted territory. This isn’t going home with some chick after they’re both a few drinks deep, knowing he’ll be gone tomorrow and she’s not even the type that would care. This is something he has absolutely no frame of reference for, something more fragile and precious and intense than anything else he’s experienced. This is… Cas. It’s Cas.

Cas reaches over, resting his palm against Dean’s cheek, and Dean doesn’t even try not to lean into the touch, thrilled at the feeling of Cas’s strong fingers framing his face. Cas just waits for him to continue.

Dean sighs. “I mean, you saw how hard it was for me before. To _talk_ about it. I can’t just come out and say shit like that.”

Cas watches him carefully, thumb tracing the ridge of Dean’s cheekbone. “I’m not asking you to say anything.”

It occurs to Dean that maybe Cas isn’t that much better than he is at expressing his emotions. Maybe that’s something they can figure out together.

The silence sits heavily for a moment as Dean mulls over Cas’s words and decides that yes, he knows exactly what Cas is implying here. He winds his fingers tight in the fabric of Cas’s shirt, leans in, and kisses him.

Dean doesn’t know how long he’s been waiting to do this – or how long Cas has been waiting, for that matter – but he’s swept up in utter gratification when their lips meet, further satisfied when Cas immediately responds. There’s no uncontrollable spark, no desperation or urgency, but it’s no less thrilling for it. It’s soft and warm, oddly peaceful while still overwhelming Dean with a sense of completion.

It’s perfect just like this, lush and indulgent and strangely comfortable for how new it is. Cas’s lips against his, gentle but confident, with an enthusiasm that only makes Dean more eager, puts the proverbial butterflies in his stomach, stirs up a slow heat within him.

He doesn’t try to push things further, though. It’s not that it doesn’t cross his mind—they are in a bed together, for Christ’s sake. And it’s not that he isn’t very _interested_ in the idea, because he absolutely is. But they’ll get there. He doesn’t know what Cas’s expectations are. He doesn’t know what his own expectations are, to be honest. He’s completely out of his depth, but that’s as exhilarating as it is nerve-racking.

This is enough, for the moment, Cas’s tender kiss, his hand in Dean’s hair, the intangible, indescribable feeling of everything fitting into place, something going right for once in his miserable life.

When they finally part, Dean can’t hold back a goofy smile because yeah, they just did that. Wow. He’s a little embarrassed to feel his eyes prickling, but he resists the urge to brush it off or squash those feelings down. This is a _good_ outpouring of emotions for a change, and he can’t find it in him to be ashamed of that.

Cas smiles at him affectionately, eyes boring into Dean’s now that he’s gotten permission to stare. “That’s more like it.”

Dean sighs happily as Cas kisses his cheek, touching their foreheads together. Dean closes his eyes and savors the moment, the resolved tension turning to exhaustion so quickly because he can finally relax, the relief almost a real, physical thing.

“You should get some rest,” Cas says, palm resting against Dean’s face again. His voice already sounds far away.

“You too,” Dean murmurs, opening his eyes for long enough to gaze into Cas’s. “Right here.” He’s still got a tight grip on Cas’s shirt, and he raises the other hand to clutch Cas’s wrist, leaning into his touch again and moving as close as he dares.

As Dean’s eyelids start to droop more heavily, he sees Cas smile, soft and earnest. “I’m not going anywhere.”

*   *   *

Castiel’s not used to sharing a bed, but he’s looking forward to getting accustomed. He’s not sure if that’s what woke him – the unfamiliarity of it all, Dean turning over and jostling the mattress – or if it was his own restless mind, unsettled still but with a thrilling kind of anxiety this time.

He and Dean aren’t close enough to touch right now, but the distance is so scant that Castiel aches to shift nearer, drawn in by Dean’s warmth, lulled by his calm breathing. He settles for reaching out and letting his fingers brush Dean’s cheek instead, mesmerized by the sight of him in the morning sunlight, freckled and serene and so, so beautiful.

As much as Castiel would be perfectly happy to stay here, he doesn’t want to stare too long. Dean should be allowed to rest. He’s relieved when Dean doesn’t stir at his touch, hardly reacts even when Castiel carefully climbs out of bed. Dean must be exhausted from yesterday, on a physical level no doubt, but, even more trying for someone like him, on an emotional level as well.

Castiel takes one last, lingering look at Dean before he leaves the room, struck by the intensity and depth of affection that surges through him, the contentment at seeing Dean safe and comfortable. Castiel wants to give him everything, any possible desire or need he might have, and amazingly enough, Dean might be open to letting him.

For the moment, Castiel can at least start by giving him coffee. Dean seemed to appreciate that yesterday, and completing even that small gesture felt so good. A heady thought that he can do it today too, can do it again, every morning, from now on.

As he scoops out coffee grounds, he thinks about how far they’ve come since the last time he did this. Getting to hold Dean’s hand, sleep beside him, _kiss him_. Castiel knows that Dean went a long way to put himself out there, and Castiel’s proud of him for finding the confidence to go outside his comfort zone like that. Perhaps it wasn’t going outside his comfort zone, exactly, so much as acknowledging that what he’s comfortable with, what he _wants_ , might be different than what he likes people to think.

He’s only just started the coffee maker when he hears Dean shuffle into the kitchen behind him. He still looks half-awake, standing stock still, face set in sort of disoriented, unreadable stare, and for a moment Castiel wonders if Dean will feel differently about things between them, will retreat into his protective layer of sarcasm and gruff dismissal now that things have changed too much for him to handle. Castiel did prepare himself for the possibility, based on prior experience, but the idea of it stings all the same.

“Good morning,” Castiel says, a bit warily.

Dean takes a few steps towards Castiel until he’s reached an intimate level of closeness that Castiel is already finding himself addicted to. Dean won’t look directly at Castiel at first, but when he finally does, Castiel’s bowled over by how open Dean’s expression is, not the shuttered mask of indifference Castiel had been anticipating. Dean reaches out and grazes Castiel’s abdomen, clutches the fabric of his shirt like he’s afraid Castiel will disappear on him, but when Castiel rests a comforting hand on Dean’s shoulder, Dean says nothing, just sways into Castiel’s space and lets his arms tentatively slip around his back.

Castiel’s caught off-guard for a moment before he reciprocates, gathering Dean into his arms just as carefully, not only following Dean’s example, but also determined to handle him gently when he so clearly needs it. Dean lets out a slow breath and pushes his face into the crook of Castiel’s neck, takes a half-step closer to bring their bodies flush together.

This is different from any previous embrace they’ve shared, and Castiel savors the welcome novelty of being allowed just to _hold_ Dean, strong as always but with a hint of softness peeking through, faintly trembling beneath Castiel’s hands. Castiel slides one hand up the back of Dean’s neck, fingers threading through his hair, palm cradling his head, and Dean sighs again, relaxing under Castiel’s touch even as he tightens his grip, tries to pull Castiel ever closer.

They both choose the same moment to gradually pull away, although Castiel would be content to stay like that for quite a long time, feeling their hearts beating in sync. He suspects that Dean feels the same.

“Uh—” Dean clears his throat, his eyes averted, a fetching blush staining his cheeks. He still has his hands on Castiel, but without the blatant desperation. “Morning,” he mutters with a quiet, self-deprecating laugh. “Didn’t know where you went,” he adds after another beat of silence.

There’s genuine, lingering fear in Dean’s eyes that he fails to hide. Or maybe, for once, he’s not even trying to play it off. Castiel feels a pang of guilt for leaving Dean to wake up alone this morning, for not staying always by his side.

“Didn’t go anywhere,” Castiel says. “Just made coffee.”

Dean still can’t take his hands off of Castiel, not that Castiel is in any particular hurry to do so himself. Dean graces Castiel with a smile. The fear has left his eyes, but he hasn’t built up the typical false bravado in its place, just genuine ease and confidence. “You’re gonna spoil me.”

 _Good_ , Castiel thinks fiercely. Dean deserves some spoiling. In lieu of a response, Castiel hums and cups Dean’s face in his hands, leaning to tenderly press his lips against Dean’s. Castiel lets out a pleased hum when Dean melts into their kiss and eagerly returns it, and he does everything he can to assure Dean that he’s not going anywhere, that he doesn’t need to put that emotional strain on himself by clinging so tightly. It feels impossibly good to touch Dean like this, let Dean lean on him, because when has Dean ever really had that without being let down, or having it taken away far too soon? Castiel’s thrilled to initiate something like this, that this is something he gets to have at all. He won’t ever take that privilege for granted or grow tired of it. He treasures the trust that Dean placed in him to get them to this point, and he’s determined to earn that trust anew every chance he gets.

When Castiel pulls away he just studies Dean’s face for a moment, thumb tracing his delicate cheekbone. In this proximity, he can count every freckle dusting Dean’s nose, feel the rise and fall of his chest at it presses against Castiel’s. He’s sure the look on his face is hopelessly enamored, but at this point there’s no way he can hope to conceal that—and for once he doesn’t have to, sees a similar expression mirrored back to him, as humbling and unbelievable as it is.

Castiel’s drawn from his trance by the shrill beep of the coffee maker, both of them glancing in its direction. “Sit,” he implores Dean. “Let me get some for you.”

Dean’s grin softens into something that’s as close to shy as Castiel’s ever seen on him. “Okay,” he says after a few moments of deliberation, idly stroking Castiel on the arm, sliding his hand up to his shoulder to lean in and kiss him on the cheek before taking his seat.

Castiel can’t help but smile, warm with the knowledge that Dean seems to like being affectionate with him too. He pours Dean’s coffee and sets it in front of him, pleased with himself for not having to ask how Dean takes it. Castiel pays attention to those things, is even more dedicated to that now that he can picture the life they’ll spend together. He covets every potential piece of knowledge, wants to know everything he can do to make Dean happy. The most amazing discovery he’s made is that it seems like just being here is enough for Dean.

Castiel sits down with his own cup, watching Dean for a moment as they sip their coffee. It’s rare that Castiel gets to see Dean like this, calm and contemplative as he stares out the window, able to have a quiet moment of idle reflection. Castiel’s seen it before, the way Dean’s guard goes down when it’s just the two of them. But Dean can only relax so much when Sam’s still in the next room, or five minutes from returning with pizza. They have real solitude here, and the change in Dean without his defenses up is always palpable, the way the tension in his shoulder eases, the way he laughs more often and more genuinely. The brief glimpses that Castiel has had over the years were enough for him to know that he wanted that for Dean all the time.

Dean’s phone buzzes loudly and breaks their comfortable silence, skittering across the surface of the table. Dean picks it up and glances at it, face lighting up as he scans the screen. “Hey, they found the kids,” he says. “Just got lost for a couple days, but they’re all back home now.”

“That’s good news,” Castiel replies, glad to see Dean looking even more at ease with that knowledge.

“Guess we don’t need to go wandering in the wilderness today,” Dean teases, an intriguing glint in his eye.

“True,” Castiel considers aloud, undoubtedly interested in what he and Dean could do if they stay inside. “But we could do it anyway.”

Dean shoots him a look. “I’m not hauling my ass up that mountain again. Haven’t recovered from yesterday.”

“Nothing uphill,” Castiel’s quick to amend, chuckling faintly, the memory of Dean’s griping still fresh in his mind. “Maybe around the lake?”

Dean looks out the window again, critically surveying the landscape. “I guess it _is_ a nice day…” he says with a sigh, faux skepticism seamlessly transitioning into a genuine spark of intrigue.

“Why don’t we enjoy it then?” It’s so beautiful, so serene where they are, a far cry from what they’re used to, and Castiel’s itching to take advantage of the opportunity while they can.

Dean lets a few beats of silence pass before smiling at Castiel, something slow and soft that Castiel gets to see far too infrequently. “Yeah,” he says, voice a gentle murmur. “Okay.”

Dean deserves nice things: simple pleasures, time to do what he wants – for himself, not what he thinks he needs to do. Castiel supposes he could use a bit of that too. And he can’t think of anything he’d rather be doing than spending time with Dean.

*   *   *

Dean never gets to just… _take a walk_. He spends a lot of time on foot, sure, but that’s usually for something purposeful – like yesterday, for example – or, you know, necessary if he wants to stay alive. He doesn’t usually get to _enjoy_ nature without looking for a trail of blood to follow or evidence of a monster nest. But this is just for a fun, a leisurely stroll just for the hell of it, and even something so mundane feels novel to Dean. And it’s especially nice that this is something he gets to experience with Cas.

Although when Dean starts to think about it as they make their way along the path next to the lake, this isn’t _entirely_ new – yesterday’s hike might’ve started out as a work thing, but it ended up with them walking hand in hand, exchanging coy smiles. He’s got every reason to expect today might play out in the same way.

“So is this like our second date?” he blurts out, thinking aloud. He sort of meant it as a joke, but as soon as the words come out of his mouth he realizes that assessment isn’t so far off. That’s the territory they’re in now. Him and Cas, together. Like, _romantically_. That’s kinda still sinking in.

Cas shoots him a look that falls somewhere between skeptical and amused. “You consider yesterday a date?” he asks, a grin creeping onto his face. “You spent most of it complaining.”

“Well, I mean,” Dean attempts, breezing right past Cas’s playful dig at him, “We did hold hands,” he mumbles, cheeks burning with embarrassment. He already feels like he’s making a fool of himself, but if Cas takes his babbling as an invitation to take his hand again, it wouldn’t be the worst thing. Actually, maybe the babbling wasn’t so unintentional after all.

Cas’s smile softens. “We did,” he agrees vaguely, his expression inscrutable. “Would you like to do it again?” he asks, eyebrow raised, clearly picking up on Dean’s unsubtle hints.

Dean licks his lips, feels his face burn hotter, but can’t bring himself to deny what he wants. “Yeah.”

Cas looks at him fondly and reaches for him. Despite his nerves, Dean gives himself over to it completely – the way his heart jumps when their fingers interlace, the warmth of Cas’s hand in his – and he forgets why he’d ever pretended that this is something he didn’t want, why he’d ever try to hide that from himself, or from Cas. But at this point it’s not worth questioning. He’s just glad he finally got the fuck over it.

Dean feels like he should say something, anything to ease his lingering anxiety, but anything he can think of just feels awkward. Words just seem inadequate for what Cas means to him, so absurdly insignificant after everything they’ve been through. They’ve earned this comfortable, meaningful silence, and Dean’s going to allow himself to just enjoy it.

“It’s beautiful here,” Cas remarks eventually. Dean can tell it’s not an idle comment or shallow small talk; he can hear the genuine awe and appreciation in Cas’s voice.

Dean hums in agreement, letting himself take it all in: the mountains, the trees, the lake – even the ducks gliding along the surface of the water. One in particular catches his attention. It’s a funny-looking thing with striped feathers, a sharp bill, beady yellow eyes and what Dean can only describe as a mohawk sticking up from its head. “The hell is that?” he mutters, mostly to himself, but of course it doesn’t escape Cas’s notice.

“The duck?” Cas asks, following Dean’s line of sight. He looks at the bird for a moment, narrowing his eyes in thought. “That’s the _Lophodytes cucullatus_.”

“What?”

“ _Lophodytes cucullatus_ ,” Cas repeats, then adds, “The hooded merganser,” as if that clarifies anything.

“Oh.” Dean blinks, not sure what he’s supposed to say to that. “Really?”

Cas smiles at him. “Really.”

“Huh,” Dean says, faintly impressed. “Never seen one of those before.” Or heard of them at all, for that matter. “Don’t see _those_ either,” he adds, nodding his head towards some red, spotted mushrooms that caught his eye. They look like they belong in a cartoon or a fairy tale—witches come to mind, briefly, before he stifles the idea. It’s pretty clear by now that this isn’t a work trip, and he’s not gonna waste time thinking about that kinda shit when he’s trying to relax.

“That’s the fly amanita,” Cas immediately chimes in.

Dean lets a beat pass, waiting for more, but Cas stays silent. “That’s it? Not gonna give me the technical term this time?” he teases.

Cas rolls his eyes, but promptly chimes in with, “ _Amanita muscaria_.”

Dean grins, playfully bumping his shoulder against Cas’s. “Knew you were holding out on me.” He veers off course to get a closer look. “Are they poisonous?” he asks, not sure if he’s intrigued or nervous about the idea. “They look poisonous.”

“They are, but not as much as some in the genus,” Cas informs him, stepping into Dean’s space to look with him. “Several species are so deadly that they’re colloquially referred to as ‘destroying angels,’” Cas mentions casually, leading them back onto the path while Dean does a double take.

“The _destroying angels_? Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Cas replies with a slight quirk of his lips.

“No way,” Dean fires back. “You’re making that up.”

Cas just shrugs mysteriously, squeezing Dean’s hand in his.

Before Dean can interrogate him further, he’s distracted by a brown and white rabbit scurrying across their path. “Who’s that guy?”

“Snowshoe hare. _Lepus americanus_.”

Dean frowns. “Well that one doesn’t sound as exciting.” Sure is cute, though – not that he says _that_ part out loud.

Something in Cas’s expression intensifies, a slight tilt to his head, gaze calculating as he directs it at Dean before sweeping it along their surroundings. He’s obviously taken Dean’s comment as a challenge, and Dean has to admit it’s damn intriguing to realize that Cas wants to _impress_ him.

“Do you see that moss?” Cas asks, slowing to a stop and pointing to the damp soil at the edge of the lake. “That’s rhizomnium moss. _Rhizomnium pseudopunctatum_.”

Dean gets a certain kind of thrill from Cas smoothly pronouncing the words, voice deep, smile just a little smug.

“Dude, how can you even tell?” Dean asks, incredulous. From where he’s standing, the moss is just a patch of fuzzy green in the damp soil, but Cas obviously sees things with a level of depth that Dean can’t really match. “You really know what _all_ this stuff out here is called?”

For a moment Cas actually looks a bit sheepish, even embarrassed – if he’s capable of such a thing – by Dean’s wide-eyed shock. “Maybe not all of it, but—” Cas pauses, huffing out a short sigh. “Well, no. Probably all of it.”

Dean stares at him for a second before breaking into a wide grin. “That’s so cool,” he gushes, gratified when the compliment makes Cas smile too. And as much as Dean pokes fun at people for being _nerds,_ he is absolutely sincere in his admiration. The fact that Cas has an unfathomable amount of knowledge is pretty fucking awe-inspiring, if you ask him.

Cas shrugs again, suddenly playing nonchalant after his brief bout of peacocking. “Well, it’s like you said. I could be making it up,” he says with a raised eyebrow.

“Aww, come on,” Dean drawls, pasting on a flirtatious smirk. “You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?”

Cas glances at him slyly. “I might.”

“I could always fact check you,” Dean insists. “I know how to Google.”

Cas hums thoughtfully. “One of your many skills, I’m sure.”

Dean’s gearing up to reply with a sexual innuendo about his ‘skills’ but when he glances in Cas’s direction, sees this _look_ in Cas’s eyes, his snarky comeback dies in his throat. “Uh,” he mutters, coughing awkwardly, averting his gaze and letting it land on a non-descript green shrub. “What’s that?” he says, pointing to it.

“ _Amelanchier alnifolia_. Otherwise known as the Saskatoon serviceberry.”

“The _what_?” Dean replies skeptically. “Saska—”

“Saskatoon serviceberry,” Cas repeats serenely.

Dean narrows his eyes at Cas, suspicious. “Okay, that one you’re definitely making up.”

Cas laughs, the sound of it making Dean’s heart flutter. “You’re welcome to Google it.”

Dean’s always known that Cas’s more playful, sarcastic side was there, even if he only gets small glimpses of it. He’s seeing a lot more of it right now, and Dean’s grateful for the chance to see Cas open up and fire back a bit. It’s a lot more fun in this context than when he and Cas are bickering with one another. Maybe being out here is freeing for Cas too.

Dean’s overwhelmed by a sudden urge to kiss Cas and remembers with a lurch that _holy shit_ , he can actually do that now. He stops walking abruptly, and Cas looks at him with curiosity until Dean winds his fingers in Cas’s jacket and starts to pull him closer. His face softens in understanding as he meets Dean halfway, reaching up to cup Dean’s face in his palm. The way Cas touches him is so confident and familiar, and Dean wonders exactly how long Cas has wanted to do this. He sighs happily when their lips meet, squeezing Cas’s hand in his, pleased when Cas immediately squeezes back.

“Having a way better time than I was yesterday,” Dean says when they part, a half smile on his face. He keeps his tone light, teasing, but the sincerity in his words is undoubtedly transparent.

“You know,” Cas says with a raised eyebrow. “That wasn’t particularly rigorous for a hiking trail.”

Dean snorts. “Well excuse me, _mountain man_ , but some of us—”

Dean’s cut off as Cas kisses him again, surging forward until Dean goes along with the momentum, pulling Cas along until his back hits a tree, Cas plastered to his front. Too soon Cas pulls back and just _looks_ at him. There’s obvious lust in his eyes as he glances at Dean’s mouth. The affection in Cas’s gaze is one thing, but this is something that Dean definitely isn’t used to. Not yet, anyway. Feeling slightly out of his depth doesn’t make this any less exhilarating.

“So what’s this?” Dean asks, indicating the tree trunk he’s pinned against.

“Douglas fir.”

“Oh,” Dean says, blinking up at the branches. “Yeah, I guess I knew that one.”

“ _Pseudotsuga menziesii._ ”

Dean barks out a laugh. “Show off.”

Cas just kisses him instead of replying, and this time Dean pulls away, as much as he hates to do it. “You can’t just do that every time you want to shut me up,” he quips, feigning offense.

“I’m sorry.”

Dean snorts again. “No you’re not.”

“Do you want me to be?” Cas asks, inclining his head as he studies Dean’s face.

“No,” Dean says immediately, louder than intended, and he’s embarrassed by how thoroughly he fails to conceal his emotions. “Just saying. Seems unfair.”

“It’s not unfair at all,” Cas argues, a smile forming on his face. “It would work just as well on me.”

Dean knows an invitation when he sees one, especially one so unsubtle. He coaxes Cas to lean in closer, hands gripping the lapels of Cas’s jacket as their lips meet. This time neither of them is quick to pull away, indulging in it slow and thorough. Cas’s hand is hot on Dean’s hip and it makes his brain short circuit a little. He didn’t know Cas was so tactile – though he didn’t often offer Cas the opportunity – but Dean’s sure as hell glad that Cas is taking advantage of it now. It makes Dean wonder about all the times Cas has had to hold himself back, and he’s eager to find out what happens when he doesn’t.

They spend long minutes just… making out like a couple of teenagers, until Dean’s blood is pumping, and he’s starting to get a little worked up, lamenting the fact that they’re not somewhere a bit warmer.

Cas steps back to admire him again, fingers slipping up Dean’s sleeve and tracing the goosebumps that’ve broken out on his skin. Might have more to blame for those than the cold.

“Maybe we should head back,” Dean suggests. He’s mostly content to stay pinned underneath Cas like this, but he wouldn’t mind doing it somewhere more comfortable.

“All right,” Cas replies, expression unreadable. He drops one last kiss on Dean’s lips before pulling back and taking his hand again, heading back onto the path.

Dean knows he didn’t imagine the hint of tension between them—the anticipation—when they decided to go back to the cabin. But the walk is so long that by the time they return, whatever air of suggestion transpired between them has mostly dissipated, and Dean’s trying not to shiver as the early spring weather finally starts to get to him.

“Not as nice out as I thought,” he complains when they step inside, pulling his jacket tighter around himself.

Suddenly Cas is very close, coat already shed, standing in front of him with a faint smile on his face. “Do you need me to keep you warm again?” The sincerity in his voice – not overtly suggestive, but with a hint of it – is enough to stave off the cold on its own.

“Um.” Dean stares at him for a second, licks his lips. “Okay.”

Cas smiles wider and immediately wraps Dean up in his arms. It’s nice to do this just because, not with anyone on the brink of death or recently returning from it. Dean sinks into it and just… lets himself be held, soaking up Cas’s body heat and the strength of his affection. Dean had always thought he’d fuck this part up, instinctively shying away or playing it cool. But the instant he was in Cas’s embrace for the first time, for _real_ , it just felt right, the most natural thing in the world, everything he’s been missing out on.

Cas is wearing a sweater that Dean’s definitely given him shit about before – as if Cas really cared – but Dean’s man enough to admit that he was probably just jealous, projecting his insecurities onto Cas, too caught up in his own nonsense to enjoy something like wearing a sweater. Dean’s certainly got no complaints about it now, appreciating how the plush fabric makes Cas even more enticing to cuddle up to, warm and soft and comforting.

Dean sucks in a breath when he pulls back, taking in the full picture Cas makes – eyes bright and attentive, dense scruff lining his sharp jaw, the thick knit of his sweater hugging every muscle, enhancing his already appealing physique in a way that makes Dean’s mouth run dry.

Dean leans in and kisses Cas, and what starts as a quick peck gets a bit heated in only a few seconds. Dean instinctively presses close, aligns their bodies head to toe, sighing as Cas’s hands settle on his hips. Yup, he’s definitely not feeling cold anymore.

When they part again, lost in a charged moment of eye contact, Dean feels his heart clench, plagued by the first inkling of panic he’s had since this all started – not because he doesn’t want this, but because he wants it _so much_. He’s not used to desire that runs so deep and intense, mingles so seamlessly with actual romantic feelings. Maybe he didn’t think about that part too often, always more hung up on emotions, but now it’s impossible to ignore how attracted he is to Cas. He’d never think that after ten years that anything could feel like rushing, but he’s such a mess for Cas that every tiny thing is overwhelming, and he’s not sure he can handle it without losing his damn mind.

Dean clears his throat, seizing the opportunity to diffuse the tension – at least for the moment. “This is nice,” he says, letting his gaze fall away to watch his fingertips stroke Cas’s sleeve, just to make it clear that Dean’s talking about his sweater being nice and not… _this_. But both are true either way.

“Thank you.” Cas graciously doesn’t call Dean out on his previous misgivings about Cas’s clothing choices. He probably knows it was all bullshit anyway. “You can borrow it, if you like.”

Dean snorts. “Dunno if it’ll look as good on me,” he replies, effectively playing the self-deprecation card while still paying Cas a compliment – and hopefully deflecting from how the idea of wearing Cas’s clothing interests him.

“I doubt that,” Cas says with a scoff of his own, then pitching his voice lower. “You always look good.”

Dean knows that’s not remotely true, but he chooses to be flattered instead of arguing. He knows that Cas has strong feelings for him, and it’s kind of exciting to learn more about the physical side of that. He can’t help preening over the fact that Cas thinks he looks good. He wasn’t sure Cas cared about that stuff – and it’d be totally okay if he didn’t – but a little pleased to know that he does, that Cas thinks about him that way.

Dean manages to distract himself for the rest of the day – Cas doesn’t try making any _moves_ or anything, and he doesn’t seem confused that Dean doesn’t either – but it all comes crashing down on him again when they turn in for the night.

He comes back from the bathroom when Cas is still changing, and he stops in the doorway and stares before he can stop himself, watching with sweaty palms as Cas unbuttons his jeans and slides them down. It shouldn’t matter. This isn’t anything new, just like countless experiences he’s had hunting with Cas, staying in motels, but the difference given their context, the state of things now, is huge.

If Cas is bothered by Dean’s ogling he doesn’t show it, just smiles faintly when he catches him, even as Dean’s face is on fire. Cas climbs into his own bed but Dean hesitates again because… well, maybe they shared last night, but it doesn’t seem right to _assume_ and—

He’s pulled from his thoughts when Cas catches his eye again, still smiling. “Let’s sleep here tonight,” he offers holding out a beckoning hand to Dean.

Dean almost melts into the floor with relief as he complies, almost melts again at the satisfying warmth of being under the covers with Cas. It’s a tight squeeze for the two of them, and it occurs to Dean that they _could_ push the beds together to get a little more room, but that would be such a pain, of course. Totally not worth the trouble.

Dean wants Cas in a thousand different ways, but the one that presses at him the most as he settles onto the mattress and stares into Cas’s eyes is the uncontrollable urge to get as close to him as possible, even in an entirely innocent way. He has far less innocent desires, for sure, but he’s probably wanted this for even longer, and needs it even more. It’s embarrassing how many of his mind’s conjured scenarios of them in bed together are just this.

He’s not dumb enough to not ask or make it happen now that he has his chance. That’s what this whole trip was for, and he’s already way past the point of being able to deny his feelings. Of course, he still expected to struggle with himself over it, but it’s amazingly easy to tuck himself against Cas’s side like he belongs there, overwhelmed by a sense of completion and safety when Cas doesn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around him to keep him close. More scandalous activity isn’t entirely out of his mind, but this is more than nice, just getting to feel everything out now that they both acknowledge what this is, find out how they fit together. This kind of touch was just as off-limits as anything else, before, and it’s just as fulfilling to finally get it. He’s survived so long without the contact he craved, and he’s swiftly becoming addicted to it, cuddling closer and focusing on how good it feels, rather than any lingering insecurity.

“Good night, Dean,” Cas says, sounding just as pleased as Dean feels, palm resting flat and warm against Dean’s back.

Dean lets his eyes drift closed, sighing happily when Cas presses a kiss to the top of his head. “Night, Cas.”

*   *   *

There’s a novel sort of contentment when Castiel wakes, pressed up behind Dean with an arm draped around his waist, nose brushing the back of his neck. He pushes in closer, smells the faint scent of his soap, breathes in his warmth. It’s a marvel that such a simple thing can feel like such a gift, but Castiel considers himself unfathomably lucky to be here like this. If we weren’t so aware of the beating of his own heart, the inescapable _realness_ of his body touching Dean’s so intimately, he’d almost be convinced this is a dream.

Castiel lets his hand rest low on Dean’s stomach, sliding over the temptingly bare spot where his shirt’s ridden up. He knows that Dean is awake too – knows from the outward physical signs, the way he stirs slightly, the rhythm of his breath faltering before evening out. But he knows it on a deeper level too, the part of him that’s still an angel and in tune with these things, especially with Dean.

Castiel hears Dean’s breathing change again, an unmistakable hitch when Castiel traces his thumb back and forth along Dean’s smooth skin, kisses his shoulder. Heat pools in Castiel’s belly at the implication of it, mind reeling with the possibilities of what other responses he can elicit from Dean with nothing but a touch. Knowing the effect he has on Dean makes it even more difficult to ignore the undercurrent of arousal simmering between them, a low thrum growing louder with each passing second.

He considers the opportunity he has here, and while his baser instincts tell him to take action, a more logical side reminds him that there’s no hurry. It’s early, and he can tell that Dean’s still tired. He’s positive they’ll act on it eventually. And he suspects that that moment isn’t too far away.

Castiel settles in more comfortably, hand stroking up Dean’s chest, slow and soothing. “Go back to sleep,” he murmurs in Dean’s ear.

Dean mumbles some vague agreement, still only half-awake.

Castiel just wants to hold him for as long as he can. He wonders if Dean will flinch away from this in the light of day, but he only has a brief moment of doubt before Dean pulls Castiel’s arm around him more tightly, threading their fingers together, and seems to drift off again almost immediately.

Dean’s out for a few more hours. Castiel doesn’t go back to sleep at all. As nice as it would be to fall asleep with Dean again and wake up beside him, he wouldn’t get to fully experience this. Castiel knows that Dean isn’t the best sleeper – wakes easily, fitful with what Castiel suspects are unpleasant dreams – but to see him rest so well in Castiel’s arms puts warmth in Castiel’s chest. Castiel feels a surge of pride knowing that Dean feels so safe and relaxed out here. With him.

Dean lets out a bleary groan as he stirs again. Castiel shifts away reluctantly, giving Dean space to let him stretch and roll onto his back. “Time ‘s it?” he mumbles, rubbing his eyes.

“1:37,” Castiel replies immediately without needing to look at the clock. He’d be loathe to tear his eyes away from the picture Dean makes regardless.

“Seriously?” Dean asks. Castiel thought he might be put off by sleeping so late, unused to the indulgence, but he seems almost exhilarated by it. Castiel’s breath catches in his throat when Dean smiles at him, still blinking the drowsiness away. “God,” Dean adds with a huff of a laugh, “I never sleep like that.” When he locks eyes with Castiel, he seems to realize what he’s saying, the implication of why he rested so well, and while he does look at bit embarrassed, Castiel’s glad to see that he isn’t cowed by it, doesn’t play it off or dismiss it.

“It seemed like you needed it,” Castiel offers, not sure what else to say.

“Probably right about that,” Dean admits, still smiling faintly. “Fuckin’ starving though.”

Castiel laughs, overcome with affection, giving into the urge to reach out and let his fingers graze Dean’s cheek, heart pounding when Dean readily leans into the touch, letting Castiel cradle his face in his palm. “Let’s eat then.”

Dean just keeps smiling at him, a softness in his expression that has nothing to do with lingering sleepiness. It’s a moment Castiel’s experienced so many times, when he realizes that if he hadn’t fallen for Dean so long ago, this would be enough to get him there.

Castiel doesn’t quite crave food the way Dean does, but he’s greedy for the ritual of it, sitting with Dean eating breakfast and discussing their plans for the day, admiring Dean’s freckles when he sips his coffee, hoping that’s an opportune moment to do so without Dean calling attention to his staring.

The conversation inevitably turns to the endless list of cinema that Dean is insistent that he watch, and apparently the Indiana Jones series has been on Dean’s mind for some time.

“Been putting these off for a while,” Dean explains, as they settle onto the couch. “Used to watch these all the damn time when I was younger, till Sam started giving me shit about it,” he continues with a snort, leaning forward to open the laptop on the coffee table and pull up the videos. “Kept saying I had a ‘crush’ on Harrison Ford.”

Castiel raises an eyebrow at that. “Don’t you?” he asks, somewhere between teasing and a genuine inquiry.

“I mean, yeah,” Dean says, briefly glancing over his shoulder, cheeks turning pink. “But he doesn’t need to know that.”

“Don’t worry,” Castiel replies. “I’ll keep your crush a secret.”

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean says as the movie starts, the traces of his blush not yet faded, but with something akin to a knowing smirk on his face. “Knew I could count on you.”

Castiel doesn’t always like the films as much as Dean does or hopes Castiel will. It’s not a testament to their quality – Castiel knows enough to understand how sentimentality and nostalgia factor in for Dean, even if he doesn’t know it or admit it himself. Castiel just doesn’t have that background or baseline to experience certain media the same way. But Dean is always excited to show him, to share some part of himself and the things he loves, and Castiel treasures that time together, Dean bringing him into his world like that. The movie could be a cinematic catastrophe, but it wouldn’t matter. There’s nothing Castiel would rather be doing.

Truthfully, Castiel’s finding it a bit difficult to pay attention today. Normally absorbing a nearly impossible amount of information at once is a simple task for him, not just necessary in a battle but just part of his everyday existence as an angel, comprehending everything on both a massive and infinitesimal scale. Since embracing a more human lifestyle, his focus has gotten much narrower, and at the moment the only thing he can focus on at _all_ is Dean sitting beside him – the warmth radiating from his body, the gentle sound of his breathing. Castiel tries not to linger too long when he sneaks a glance in Dean’s direction, captivated by the light in Dean’s eyes as he watches something he obviously has a special fondness for. Though he can’t help but notice that Dean might be a little distracted too, in a way he never is when Sam’s there with them.

It seems that neither of them knows how close they should sit, what’s welcome or appropriate or worth risking. Maybe they’re uncertain of what the other wants, though they could probably make a reasonable guess based on recent experience. Dean seems to slowly gravitate closer as the movie rolls on, gets further and further into Castiel’s space until, before Castiel can even process it, Dean’s mouth is on his. They spend a few long minutes kissing before Dean makes a noise and pulls away claiming _wait, this is the best part, lemme rewind_ , leaving Castiel reeling from the interruption, the hand that was working its way towards Dean’s thigh falling away as Dean leans forward to reach the laptop. Again, Castiel detects a hint of a sly smile on Dean’s face, a teasing indication that they’ll pick up where they left off later.

Whatever teasing smugness Dean had seems to fade away as he hits play and sits back. Dean’s unintentionally put distance between them again, and he seems to be struggling with how to regain it without making it too obvious. Castiel makes things easy for him, reaching for his hand to lace their fingers together, trying not to seem too smug himself when Dean visibly relaxes. He even goes as far as to tentatively rest his head against Castiel’s shoulder, a bit stiff and awkward until Castiel squeezes his hand reassuringly, and Dean relaxes even further, huffing out a laugh.

Castiel’s surprised, as he was last night, at Dean’s willingness to initiate this kind of contact on his own. It’s clear that it’s not easy, and that’s probably proof enough of how much he needs it. Castiel’s happy to provide that for him, especially after all the time he’s had to hold himself back from displaying affection, afraid Dean wouldn’t welcome it. It’s a thrill to know otherwise.

After the first movie they take a break for popcorn, made on the stove, and by the time the second one ends, it’s already well into the evening.

To Castiel’s surprise, Dean doesn’t cue up the next film right away. “Supposed to get pretty cold tonight,” Dean says after a few beats, staring thoughtfully out the window. Castiel can hear the forced nonchalance in his voice and waits patiently to see what’s on Dean’s mind. “Maybe even snow.” He turns back to Castiel, biting his lip, squirming slightly – from nerves or anticipation, Castiel’s not sure. Perhaps both. “Might be nice to get a fire going.”

Dean’s eyes surreptitiously dart towards the fireplace, and Castiel wonders if Dean’s picturing it as vividly as he is, the two of them together, the warmth and low lighting encouraging an ambiance that’s undoubtedly _romantic_.

“Is there any firewood?” Castiel asks, realizing he’s been lost in thought a few seconds too long.

“Couple of logs out back. Gotta get ‘em down to size though.”

Castiel’s already rising from his seat. “I’ll take care of it,” he announces. “We have an ax in the trunk, right?”

“Yeah, but—”

Castiel stops and glances at Dean. “Yes?”

“I didn’t mean you had to—” Dean attempts, faltering. “I can do it. I was just—”

“Dean,” Castiel says fondly but firmly, cutting him off. He reaches out to Dean still seated on the couch, fingers grazing his jaw, gripping his chin and tilting his face up so Castiel can look into his eyes. “Didn’t you say you wanted to make dinner?” Castiel had attentively listened to his plans over their coffee earlier, charmed by the way that Dean, who used to insist that he only needed fast food and takeout for sustenance, was so committed to making a home-cooked meal even in a remote woodland cabin.

“Yeah,” Dean admits, and Castiel can almost see another protest forming in his mind, but he seems to stifle it.

“So you do that, and I’ll do this,” Castiel affirms, smiles at Dean until he smiles back.

“Fine,” Dean relents with an exaggerated sigh. “If you wanna do it so bad I won’t stop you,” he adds, grin slipping into a smirk. “Who’s the lumberjack now, huh?”

Castiel raises an eyebrow at him. “I just thought it might be faster if I did it,” he says breezily. “I am stronger than you are, after all,” he teases.

He thought Dean might pretend to be insulted by the comment – although it is undoubtedly a true statement – but he definitely detects a spark of interest in Dean’s eyes that warrants further investigation. He turns on his heel and heads outside before Dean can try to get the last word in. It occurs to Castiel belatedly that he could start a fire with a thought, and he’s strangely pleased that it didn’t seem to cross Dean’s mind either. There’s a line for Castiel between wanting to feel useful and only being seen as important for his powers.

Castiel doesn’t have much experience splitting wood, but it’s hardly difficult, and once he gets started, he easily settles into a rhythm. That’s often the case for him with monotonous things like this, activities that seem boring for those who are used to it but for Castiel are far more appealing than the alternative – it was different when he was an angel with a single-minded focus for carrying out heaven’s mission, but now he has actual leisure time at his disposal, and he finds the repetition soothing, almost meditative.

Castiel undoubtedly has some pent-up energy to burn off, even more so since being alone with Dean for the last few days. He chops far more firewood than is necessary, but it feels good to do something physical, make use of his hands and his body while his mind is otherwise occupied. He pauses for a moment to glance at the cabin, spotting Dean through the window. There’s a palpable air of serenity from Dean, the picture of peace and contentment as he putters around the kitchen. Castiel’s unprepared for Dean to look up and catch his eye, and his heart skips a beat or two when Dean smiles at him.

He’s surer than ever that they can only wait so much longer before they address their shared desire. For a while, Castiel had wondered if uncertainty was holding Dean back, but he’s come to realize that it’s quite the opposite: he’s so certain about this that he’s content to take his time. Dean had seemed thrown off by the slow pace at first, but he’s settled into it now, still eager but less urgent, none of the desperation and insecurity. He trusts Castiel to be there, and Castiel’s proud that he can inspire that confidence in Dean, that he can know how wanted he is, not just physically. That Dean’s opened himself up enough to believe in the unspoken promise that Castiel’s making.

Because that’s a promise that, no matter the circumstances, won’t ever, _ever_ be broken.

*   *   *

Dean’s always liked cooking for the people he cares about, once he had the opportunity to try, but he can’t deny that he especially likes cooking for Cas. Cas enjoys the final product of course, as far as Dean knows, but he always shows genuine appreciation for the effort that goes into it, the gesture that Dean’s making. He doesn’t eat Dean’s food just because it’s there, he does it because he really wants to.

Dean spends a while chopping vegetables, bouncing between his mind wandering to thoughts of Cas and his eyes wandering to watch Cas through the window. It’s just a good look on him: buffalo plaid and faded jeans, muscles working with every swing of the ax. Dean tries not to get too distracted by the display when he’s wielding a sharp object himself.

It’s even worse when Cas finally comes inside – he’s apparently exerted himself enough to be covered in a fine sheen of sweat, although there’s no doubt it was an easy task for him. He’s probably letting himself sweat just to torture Dean.

“Thought you were never coming back.”

Cas laughs, looking almost sheepish for someone who’s effortlessly lugging around a giant bundle of wood. “I got a bit carried away.”

“I can see that,” Dean replies vaguely, eyes helplessly wandering to Cas’s biceps straining the fabric of his shirt. He instinctively tries to stop himself before he remembers that he’s _allowed_ to do this now. He can check Cas out all he wants, so he does, giving him a thorough once over, still with that split second of panic when Cas catches him staring. But all he does is stare right back, giving Dean a slow smile that makes his stomach flip. Cas knows he’s looking, seems to enjoy it, _encourage_ it even, and Dean happily takes the invitation, gaze lingering on Cas’s broad shoulders and thick thighs, able to fully appreciate them now that he’s not swathed in a trench coat.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Cas says, pulling Dean from his current daydream only to send him into another.

“Uh. Okay,” he says dumbly, trying and failing to pretend he’s not picturing it. Cas doesn’t really _need_ to shower either. Probably another torture tactic.

“Come with me.”

That swoop in his stomach returns tenfold, and there’s a long moment where he’s sure he couldn’t possibly have heard that right. He fights the urge to have Cas clarify what he’s asking for, what he’s _offering_ , and tries to just roll with it. He’s not sure he has the nerve to ask anyway.

“Um,” he attempts, throat dry, wiping his suddenly clammy hands on his jeans. He glances around the kitchen – he’s only chopped stuff so far, hasn’t even made it to the stove, nothing at risk of burning the place down if he abandons it – and turns back to Cas, licking his lips. “Okay.”

He shakily returns Cas’s smile and takes his proffered hand, letting himself be led to the bathroom. His heart is thundering in his chest by the time the door closes behind them, Cas kissing him brief and chaste before reaching past the shower curtain to turn the water on.

Dean’s not entirely sure where this is going. For a moment he wonders if this is all supposed to be a tease too, but then Cas starts to undress just as casually as he had last night, and Dean is just as compelled by the display. He ogles shamelessly as Cas unbuttons his shirt, and even though he knows he has tacit permission by now, there’s still something that feels weirdly illicit about it. But instead of that discouraging him, it only ratchets his pulse up higher.

He’s never seen this much of Cas before, not in a context that he could actually enjoy it. He’d always struggled to not think about Cas _that way_ when he wasn’t sure if he had a shot, but he wants Cas, he has for a long time, and it’s so much worse now that he might actually get to have him. They’ve crossed that emotional threshold and the physical one looms in front of him, grows and intensifies with each inch of bare torso Cas reveals. Dean’s never craved someone so deeply on both of those levels—it’s like he can’t even breathe when Cas is near him, especially now.

Dean’s only managed to shed his overshirt, suddenly overwhelmed and too distracted to make a real effort, and he can’t just blame the rising steam for the way he’s starting to sweat, t-shirt clinging to his skin. He tugs half-heartedly at the hem of it, vaguely aware that he should just take it off, but he stops dead when Cas locks eyes with him and steps closer, his hands finding Dean’s and helping him to peel it off, his fingers sliding up Dean’s stomach and chest.

Then Cas’s hand is on Dean’s hip, tracing the waistband of Dean’s jeans, but he doesn’t move to undo them. He’s looking at Dean searchingly, and Dean knows that this is him checking in, making sure that everything is still okay. In the not-so-distant past he might’ve gotten his back up about Cas being so careful with him, but now he’s just grateful for the reminder that Cas cares so much.

Dean tries to ease Cas’s (not totally unfounded) concern by taking initiative, trying to convey his assent despite the way his hands are actually _shaking_ as he reaches for Cas’s belt. “I—” he attempts, heart about to beat right out of his chest. “Uh—” It’s all too much for a second, the reality of the situation catching him off-guard. But before he can start spiraling, Cas’s gentle touch on his shoulder brings him back to earth. The amused smile on Cas’s face elicits an embarrassed laugh from Dean, grin widening as Cas leans in to kiss him on the cheek.

His anxiety is soothed for the moment, but he can’t exactly say the mood has lightened. It’s just as tense and heavy as ever, even still scary on some level, but in a way that Dean can’t get enough of. Their eyes meet again as Dean gets Cas’s pants undone and eases them down, and he steps in closer to kiss Cas softly on the mouth, finding his hands and urging them towards Dean’s belt.

There’s warmth and need in each kiss, but like they’ve been doing since they arrived, they’re not rushing past that heady sense of anticipation. Dean’s surprised again, maybe, by the lack of frenzy or fire even when they’re down to their underwear, but he can’t say that he’s bothered by it.

Cas’s fingers hover at his own waist, teasing the elastic of his boxers. He hesitates for only a moment as he scans Dean’s face, until he finds the hunger that must be plainly telegraphed. Dean licks his lips – it’s just a nervous reflex, but the way Cas’s eyes are drawn to his mouth makes him do it again with intent. The undeniable want in Cas’s expression is gratifying, but he only has a second to bask in that feeling before Cas forges ahead and bares himself completely.

Dean almost instinctively tries not to look, but after a split second he reminds himself that it’s okay to let his gaze linger, that he’s allowed to really drink in the sight in front of him, and then he has to remind himself not to stare _too_ hard.

Dean’s thought about this, tried to cobble together some fantasy image based on what little pieces of information he’s collected throughout the years. But his imagination really didn’t do Cas any justice, didn’t fully represent his sturdy frame or his tan skin. He could look like anything, really, the point is that it’s _Cas_ , but he still lets his eyes roam appreciatively, and Cas looks pleased by his obvious interest.

That bolsters Dean’s confidence, that reminder that Cas is just as stupidly into him as he is to Cas, and with one smooth motion he follows Cas’s lead and lets the last garment separating them slip to the floor.

Dean can’t remember the last time he was completely naked with someone like this, even for sex. He wishes he could say that he was just so gone on the people he’s been with that he _had_ to have them, too stupid with lust to take everything off properly, but the truth is that even during a hookup with a stranger it felt too exposed, too difficult to make the inevitable quick getaway. It’s almost enough to dredge up some self-consciousness, but the look in Cas’s eyes tells Dean that he’s got nothing to be embarrassed about. Dean’s mostly used to the way Cas looks at him – even in a romantic way, by now – but Cas turning that intense gaze on him when they’re both undressed is an entirely different story.

Dean swallows nervously and reaches for the shower curtain, shifting it aside and stepping into the tub with Cas right behind him. The feeling of Cas’s hands on his bare skin is overwhelming, even these mostly innocent touches, his fingers brushing Dean’s arm, his waist, the small of his back. But innocent or not Dean’s greedy for the attention, and while the idea of _more_ is still present in the back of his mind, this is pretty damn good on its own.

Cas’s body was nice enough to look at but Dean’s even more impressed once he gets his hands on it, because he still can’t believe he’s actually touching Cas like this. The smooth skin and hard muscle are enticing, for sure, but for the umpteenth time he remembers that _this is Cas_ and Dean gets to do this, gets to be as close to him as he’s always wanted.

Cas pulls back and regards him quietly, thumb stroking his cheekbone. It gives Dean a moment to breathe and contemplate this slow, measure paced that Cas is sticking to. He wonders if Cas is holding back for Dean’s benefit; Cas is fearless with most things, especially when it comes to silly human anxieties, and has always been one to take action. It’s hard to imagine that Cas would be hesitant for his own sake. It occurs to him that maybe Cas isn’t interested in what else is on the table, or at least is interpreting the situation a bit more innocently than Dean is, but he dismisses _that_ thought immediately.

But maybe he’s not coddling Dean or waiting for him to the one to push things forward. It’s not rejection, it’s not cluelessness – and it’s _definitely_ not disinterest, because it hasn’t escaped Dean’s notice that Dean’s not the only one getting hard from this, and that knowledge doesn’t help calm him down one bit.

Cas isn’t agonizing over what the next step is or when it’ll happen. He’s just savoring it, Dean realizes, enjoying these moments for what they are as they experience them.

Dean’s enjoying the chance to take advantage of their extended solitude. There’s a heat behind each kiss that Dean definitely wants to explore, but they’re still feeling it out. And despite Dean’s eagerness he actually doesn’t mind going slow – not because either of them has to, but just because they can. They’ll get there, and everything before that point is basically… really drawn-out foreplay. That concept is a complete novelty to Dean, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t kinda fucking thrilled by it. He’s never really had the luxury before.

They have every opportunity to get it right, and it’s a hopelessly corny thought, but he’s never had a first time with anyone that really felt, well, _special_. Of course, most of those first encounters were also the last, not the start of something real. This could be the start of the rest of his life, maybe – hopefully – with someone he really cares about, and it’s hard to pass that up for a quick fumble in the shower, tempting as it is.

Dean gets the sense that Cas is leaving the ball in his court. Dean could follow his base lust right now, and he’s certain Cas would readily accompany him down that path, but he’s already made his decision. And if this shower is really not going to lead to anything other than showering, Dean figures he might as well do just that.

He reaches for the soap, uncertain how Cas will react. But as Dean slowly lathers himself up, Cas just _watches_. His gaze has always been intense, but there are layers to it that Dean’s getting better at discerning. There’s affection, curiosity, fascination – and arousal too, that’s undeniable, and it only gets Dean’s heart beating faster. Apparently Cas can only bear to idly observe for so long, because soon he’s slipping the bar from Dean’s grasp and taking over.

Dean sighs and bites his lip as Cas’s slick hands glide over his skin. Showering might not exactly have been a flimsy pretense for sex, but it’s clear that their goal isn’t to actually get clean either. It was just an excuse for this, for their hands and their eyes all over one another, indulging in this almost unbearable intimacy just for its own sake, not as a lead-in to anything more. For the time being.

Cas’s fingers graze Dean’s nipples and he sucks in a breath in response, realizing he needs to stop Cas before he gets too worked up. He’s too anxious to return the favor for Cas anyway, and he leans in closer than necessary so he can snatch the soap back. It’s encouraging how easily Cas welcomes his touch, hands low on Dean’s hips as he pulls them flush together.

Dean doesn’t really pretend to be accomplishing anything here, just runs his soapy hands along Cas’s firm chest. He presses a kiss to Cas’s throat because he can’t resist, but he follows Cas’s lead and doesn’t escalate. Cas lets out a pleased hum, barely audible over the spray, but a tingling buzz beneath Dean’s lips. He breathes Cas’s name when Cas reciprocates; the answering kiss on his neck is almost chaste, but the feeling of his stubble scratching Dean’s sensitive skin is electrifying.

He’s vaguely aware of Cas reaching behind him for the shampoo and popping the cap open. “Turn around,” Cas murmurs, and god, Dean’s sure he doesn’t mean anything overtly suggestive by it, but just hearing those words in Cas’s deep, rough voice, he hardly knows the difference. Either way, it’s not like Dean’s gonna say no to that. He stifles a satisfied groan when Cas’s fingers thread through his hair, working the shampoo in. He could get used to this, Cas’s strong hands massaging his scalp and down the back of his neck, the feeling of him pressed up behind Dean. He’s not so close that the contact is as scandalous as it could be, but he’s close enough that Dean can’t stop thinking about it – Cas taking that last half step forward until they’re aligned head to toe, the tangible proof of how this is affecting Cas impossible to ignore. Dean’s own arousal surges at the idea of it, but he isn’t able to get too caught up in his imagination before Cas maneuvers him under the spray to rinse his hair clean. Though Cas handling his body so firmly, so confidently, doesn’t exactly keep the lust at bay.

He snags the bottle before Cas can set it back down. He expects to be nervous about this, but he immediately moves past that possibility when Cas turns around, giving Dean a fantastic view of his well-muscled back and shoulders – among other things. Even as he starts to lather up the shampoo he can’t stop staring, the movement of Cas’s shoulder blades suddenly bringing his mind to Cas’s wings. He’s not familiar enough to properly picture them, sadly, but he’s sure he can imagine the basics – huge, majestic, awe-inspiring, filling up this entire room, probably. Hell, his true form in its entirety would tower over the cabin they’re in, but here he is with Dean in this dinky little shower, getting his hair washed, not because he actually needs it but because he wants to, putting himself in this intimate, vulnerable situation just because it brings him closer to Dean. It’s a humbling thought, to say the least.

He’s almost completely spaced out when Cas steps away to rinse off, and his breath hitches when Cas turns to face him, fingers grazing Dean’s elbow, drawing him in again and kissing him. His hands move to frame Dean’s face as they get more into it, and Dean instinctively reaches out to wind his fingers in Cas’s shirt, as he’s found himself doing often these past few days, but he finds only bare skin, reverently runs his hands up Cas’s back instead. They make out lazily until Dean’s somehow more worked up and more relaxed all at once, and the scant amount of hot water they started with begins to run out, Dean breaking out in goosebumps.

“Cold?” Cas asks as they part, soothingly stroking Dean’s arms, head tilted in concern. The water may have gone chill, but Cas’s hands still feel hot against Dean’s skin.

He wants to say no, but they can’t stay here forever. He still wants Cas, badly, but his body’s not urgently demanding it anymore, settled into their leisurely pace. “Kinda, yeah.”

Cas smiles at him. “It might be a good time to start the fire.”

“Yeah,” Dean repeats. The idea of it is definitely sounding real nice right about now. “And I gotta get back to cooking if we ever wanna eat.”

“It’ll be worth the wait,” Cas says warmly. As always, Dean’s not sure if the double entendre is intentional, but the obvious desire in Cas’s eyes might be answer enough. If Dean thought Cas’s gaze was intense before, he wasn’t prepared for the full extent of his undisguised interest.

Dean licks his lips and nods, returns Cas’s heavy stare to convey that his message is received and reciprocated, that whatever was brewing between them right now can be put on pause because it’ll be _worth the wait_. He’s trying to get better at communicating with actual words, but he seems to be doing okay without them too.

They get out and dry each other off with the threadbare towels, soft, sly smiles on their faces, then they each get dressed in something comfortable before temporarily parting ways, Dean continuing dinner while Cas tends to the fire.

Dean’s barely gotten back into it when he sees the that the fireplace is lit up and crackling. Cas fiddles with it for a minute before rising to his feet, sauntering over to Dean.

“Awesome,” Dean says with a grin when Cas reaches him, hand warm on Dean’s lower back. “Thanks.” He presses a kiss to Cas’s cheek, feels Cas’s smile beneath his lips before he even sees it.

“Can I do anything?”

 _I got it_ is on the tip of Dean’s tongue, but at the last second he pauses, thinking back to earlier. He’d been thrown off, maybe even a little annoyed, when Cas wanted to handle the wood-chopping on his own. But he’s starting to understand that Cas wants to be useful, powers or not, and that it’s Dean he wants to help especially. And if Dean’s being honest with himself, he could be a lot better about asking for and accepting help. He can’t even imagine how many times Cas must have wanted to do something for him but didn’t even offer because of how prickly and defensive Dean can get. Reflecting on that now makes Dean feel like an ass, but he’s got plenty of time to make up for it.

So instead of the reflexive protest, he says, “Can you check if that water’s boiling yet?” warmth suffusing his chest at Cas’s low hum of agreement. For a moment Dean feels like the perfect picture of wholesome domesticity – something he’s far happier with than he’s let on throughout his life – but there’s undeniable heat and _promise_ in the kiss Cas presses to his jaw before stepping away.

They finish a lot quicker with Cas helping, and throughout dinner, Dean’s hardly able to tear his eyes away from Cas, swinging rapidly between gooey sappy feelings and the simmering lust that’s been left unattended for too long now. He thinks he sees the same reflected in Cas’s eyes.

He’s been trying to parse it for a while now, on both their parts, the difference between romantic affection and unabashed desire. Dean can scarcely tell where one ends and the other begins, but he eventually realizes that when it comes to Cas, when it comes to the two of them here, in this moment, they’re basically one and the same.

*   *   *

After dinner, they return to the sitting area, moving the table to make more room for them to put a blanket down and spread out in front of the fire, backs against the sofa. It’s all under the pretense of continuing their movie marathon, but Castiel was right – the intimate, romantic mood he’d envisioned has unquestionably been realized, and an hour in, Castiel can tell that Dean’s distracted, his laser focus from earlier evaporated. Castiel can see him fidgeting in his periphery, eyes seeming to dart in Castiel’s direction only to skittishly flit away.

It’s intriguing to know that whatever Dean’s thinking about is enough to pull his attention from a movie series he’s clearly so invested in, no matter how many times he’s seen it.

But Castiel can’t say that he’s much better off himself. Whatever had been building between them up until this point, Castiel has rapidly accelerated by inviting Dean into the shower with him. He’s not sure what he was expecting or hoping for at the time, though he was of course open to all possibilities; he just wanted to be closer to Dean. And he certainly accomplished that. It just seemed foolish to be in there by himself, thinking of nothing but Dean. He can’t think about much other than Dean right now either.

Dean leans forward and pauses the video, bringing Castiel back into the moment. “Uh,” he says, seeming to debate with himself. “Snack break?”

Castiel suspects that that’s not what’s really on Dean’s mind, but he goes along with it. “Those strawberries I bought are still in the fridge,” he replies, already getting up to retrieve them.

“Fruit?” Dean asks with exaggerated disgust as Castiel sits back down. “C’mon, man.”

Castiel shrugs, unimpressed. “More for me then,” he says, nonchalantly looking at the ceiling and helping himself to a couple, very aware of Dean’s eyes on him.

Silence settles in, and it’s only a few moments before Dean starts to fidget again. “Are you seriously not gonna share?”

Castiel raises an eyebrow at him. “I thought you didn’t want any.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Fine,” Castiel says, feigning an annoyed huff as he picks up another strawberry. “Here.” He offers it to Dean, bringing it towards his mouth in a gesture that’s mostly a joke. But Dean surprises him by actually going for it – maybe it was mean to be a joke from his perspective too, but then their eyes lock as he eats the berry from Castiel’s fingers before shifting back, and Castiel knows that any potential humor has been stopped in its tracks.

Castiel takes in Dean’s slightly stunned expression, wondering what it means. Castiel is thrown a bit off-kilter himself. After a few beats, Dean clears his throat awkwardly, and Castiel attempts to break the silence. “Satisfied?” he asks, attempting to recapture the playful tone from before, but he falls flat.

Dean’s expression is sober and sincere when he catches Castiel’s eye. “No,” he murmurs, short and soft, no hint of teasing.

“Would you like another, then?”

“Okay,” Dean replies. And this time he knows what he’s agreeing to, shuffling closer, lips parting readily as Castiel brings the strawberry to his mouth. Dean’s less careful with it this time, and Castiel’s breath hitches at the distinct scrape of teeth against the pads of his fingers.

“Another?” Castiel asks almost immediately. His motivations aren’t entirely selfless, but he suspects that Dean doesn’t mind.

Dean just licks his lips, swallowing hard, and nods, seeming beyond words. Castiel’s seen Dean go quiet like this before, often when he’s grown uncomfortable and withdrawn into himself, closing himself off to everything and everyone. This is decidedly different.

Castiel offers him the berry, captivated by the sight of Dean’s plush, slick mouth so close to his fingers.

He picks up another, for himself this time, and Dean instinctively leans in for it before he catches himself, turning red. Castiel quickly goes back to the bowl to get one for Dean, feeding it to him without prompting, something warm and satisfied blooming in his chest. He’s blown away that Dean would allow this kind of intimacy, would _enjoy_ it, and Castiel’s greedy for the way he’s putting himself in Castiel’s hands, looking flushed and almost dazed, torn between letting his eyelids flutter closed and watching Castiel with rapt attention.

He can no doubt see what effect this is having on Castiel. But if he does register the heat in Castiel’s eyes, then he’s plainly not bothered by it, even projecting similar desire of his own. That only gets Castiel’s blood pumping even faster, eyes again drawn to Dean’s tempting mouth. He can’t resist tasting it. It’s as soft and sweet as it looks, but he only indulges in their kiss fleetingly, Dean chasing him as he pulls back.

He holds another strawberry out for Dean, observing with interest his heavy breathing, half-lidded eyes. It’s fascinating and thrilling to know that this is enough to arouse him; that’s true for Castiel too, especially with Dean’s lips briefly wrapping around his fingers as he withdraws his hand.

Castiel reaches back into the nearly empty bowl for more, but that’s as far as he gets before Dean’s fingers clasp his wrist to stop him, his other hand warm and heavy on his thigh. He’s been steadily gravitating towards Castiel for a while, now in very near proximity as a few moments of silence pass. “Want you,” he murmurs eventually, appearing to have a hard time looking Castiel in the eye.

Castiel wasn’t expecting that open admission, and the jolt of lust that courses through him hearing those words is almost enough to make him groan aloud.

Castiel takes a steadying breath and puts the strawberry back down. He takes Dean’s face in his hands until Dean’s eyes meet his, holding his gaze for a few seconds before leaning in to kiss him.

It’s not the fleeting tease from before, Dean surging into it, clutching at him and pulling him close, his desperation palpable. Castiel feels a pang of regret for making Dean wait so long – for making _both_ of them so long – but he’s certainly going to make up for that now.

Castiel’s enthusiasm gets the better of him, but Dean goes with it easily when Castiel presses forward, lets himself be pushed to the floor. There’s mounting urgency in his kiss, a clear need for _more_ that Castiel is all too glad to provide, craves it for himself too. He opens his mouth for Castiel’s tongue, eagerly meeting it with his own, and Castiel threads his fingers through Dean’s hair, Dean breaking away with a gasp when Castiel tightens his grip. Castiel takes advantage of the opportunity to tilt Dean’s head back and expose his throat, admiring its unblemished surface before getting his mouth on it.

Dean swears as Castiel finds what must be a particularly sensitive spot, letting his legs fall farther apart, encouraging Castiel to press against him more heavily. It’s pure bliss when their hips brush together, the two of them separated only by a few thin layers of cotton, the friction electrifying.

Knowing that Dean is hard for him is thrilling, though not entirely new, not since a few hours ago. He knows Dean was tempted, they both were, but there’s something gratifying about Dean being patient and willing to follow his lead. But now Castiel plans to do something about it, coax Dean to a state of delirious arousal and then beyond it, drive him to ecstasy, leave him trembling and panting Castiel’s name. He wants that more than anything.

Castiel is achingly hard himself, dizzy with the way Dean arches up against him as they kiss, and in that split second he shifts from feeling content to do this forever to knowing that it’s not nearly enough.

Castiel slips his hand beneath Dean’s shirt, needing more skin, sliding higher until it’s rucked up his torso. Clothes are an unwelcome impediment now, and Dean seems to agree, hastily shedding his own shirt and then helping Castiel peel his off as well. Castiel relishes the feeling of Dean’s hands on him, their bare skin touching. He needs more, fingers curling around the waistband of Dean’s sweats and then hesitating, waiting for approval. Dean doesn’t even confirm out loud, just pushes them down himself, Castiel reluctantly putting some space between them so Dean can kick the garment away. Then he’s bare beneath Castiel’s fingers, and Castiel settles between his legs again, gazing down at him in awe.

“You’re so beautiful.”

Dean blushes, attempts to cover it up with a short laugh. “Don’t have to sweet talk me, Cas. I’m already a sure thing.”

Castiel knows he means to sound flippant, but he can see everything Dean’s not saying, self-loathing always just below the surface. Wary of scaring Dean away by being too sincere when he’s already making himself so vulnerable, Castiel tries to keep things light. “Shut up and let me tell you how amazing you are,” he teases, heart soaring when Dean laughs breathlessly, more genuine this time, and doesn’t argue.

Sexual pleasure isn’t totally foreign to Castiel. But he knows from experience that it’s different when it’s not just him and his fleeting thoughts, all the more overwhelming because this is _Dean_. There’s so much for him to take in, so much for him to do. He wants everything and hardly knows where to start.

But Dean makes it easy, so pliant and trusting, giving himself over to Castiel’s exploration, spurring him on. He tips his head back, neck bared in an invitation Castiel can’t say no to, but he only lingers a moment; there’s so much more he wants to familiarize himself with. His fingers trail across Dean’s stomach and up his chest, brushing a nipple and staying there when Dean sucks in a sharp breath, then follows that path with his mouth. A gentle bite on Dean’s nipple earns Castiel a groan and an exhilarated laugh, fading into a whimper when Castiel doesn’t relent. He’s insistent with tongue and teeth, giving the other side equal attention, pinching and rolling between the tips of his fingers.

He lets his hands and mouth continue to wander, mesmerized by the sight of Dean so aroused beneath him. He snakes a hand down Dean’s abdomen to touch him properly, thrill by how hard he is in Castiel’s grasp, by the urgent noise he makes when Castiel gives him a few firm strokes.

“Wait,” Dean says far too soon, pushing Cas back slightly.

Castiel has a moment of guilt, of concern, before he realizes that Dean doesn’t seem distressed, perhaps just a bit nervous. That reflexive tick, tongue darting out to wet his lips, is almost too much for Castiel in this moment. It’s distracting and obscene enough as it is.

“We should—in my, uh. In my bag. Inside pocket.”

He’s not being entirely clear, though Castiel has an inkling about what Dean might be alluding to. “I’ll get it,” he replies, swooping in for a quick kiss before rising to his feet and ducking into the bedroom.

Castiel opens Dean’s duffel and finds the bottle he expected. He stops for a moment, considering the fact that they have _two_ perfectly good beds at their disposal. But then he returns to the living room, stopped in his tracks by the picture Dean makes. He takes a leisurely moment to drink in the intoxicating sight of Dean naked and hard in the glow of the firelight, eyes hungrily roaming every inch of him, all thoughts of moving to the bedroom forgotten.

“You just gonna stand there and _look_ all night?”

That snaps Castiel out of his trace, finally joining Dean in front of the fire. “I honestly think I could. If you’d let me.”

“Maybe another time,” Dean says, pulling Cas closer. Castiel’s intrigued by the possibility, but he remains focused on the task at hand. “Need you to do a lot more than look right now.”

Castiel kisses him briefly, humming into it before withdrawing, just enough to show what he brought back from the bedroom. “Is this what you were looking for?”

“Yeah. Hope that’s not, uh. Presumptuous of me.”

“I’m not offended,” Castiel says, smiling at him. “You were prepared.”

Dean snorts and rolls his eyes playfully. “Yeah, I’m a regular boy scout.”

Castiel smiles at him before settling into a more sober expression, eyes flicking towards the bottle in his hand. “Do you…?” He trails off uncertainly, because he doesn’t know what Dean’s expectations are. Or his own, for that matter. He’s undoubtedly open to anything, humbled by the privilege of being with Dean like this, no matter what they do, even if they stopped right here. Not that there aren’t other things he might _like_ to do.

“What do you want, Cas?”

Castiel notes the deflection, the subtle pivot from focusing on his own desires. Castiel may have some things of his own in mind, but he wants to give Dean what _he_ wants too, but luckily, he suspects they’re of one mind about this. “Could we…” he attempts, trailing his fingers up Dean’s inner thighs. He’ll be more than content if the answer is no, doesn’t want to pressure Dean if he’s wrong about this, reading too much into the way Dean’s readily let Castiel take control. But he feels he owes Dean honesty about his interests, and the idea of it is already burning him up inside.

Dean doesn’t properly reply, just mutters an expletive under his breath, eyes wide as they stare up at Castiel.

He’s almost taken aback by Dean’s reaction – the palpable excitement, and what is perhaps a sense of relief that he’s being offered something he secretly craves, something he might have a hard time asking for.

Castiel smiles at him again, bordering on a laugh. “Is that a yes?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, surprisingly quiet and sincere compared to Castiel’s teasing tone. “Please,” he adds after a brief silence.

Castiel hardly needs to be convinced, but he’s still grateful to hear it, the undeniable proof that Dean wants this, found the courage to ask for it after all, to trust Castiel with that.

“God,” Dean says, eyes dropping to the waistband of Castiel’s underwear, to his erection pressing insistently pressing against the fabric. “You gotta take those off,” he demands, trembling finely in barely concealed anticipation.

Castiel wastes no time in complying, pushing them down and off while Dean watches with shameless enthusiasm. He wasn’t exactly concerned about propriety earlier when they were in the shower, but he didn’t seem as willing to stare too blatantly – Castiel’s thrilled by the desire in his eyes now, that this body pleases him. Castiel wasn’t born with it, but it’s his now, to protect and maintain, and he’s glad it’s to Dean’s liking. His sense of pride is potentially misguided, but he thinks he’s entitled to a little bit of self-satisfaction.

Castiel’s no better off, just as enthralled by the picture Dean makes, gazing up at Castiel like that, knowing what he’s asking for, what he wants. It’s a bit overwhelming for Castiel to think about what’s coming next, that he’s going to be _inside_ Dean, and he must hesitate a second too long, because Dean pipes up and breaks him out of his trance.

“You know what you’re doing?” he asks, with a quirk of his eyebrow and trace of a smirk, seeming to come back to his more casual demeanor for a moment. Castiel’s glad to see him at ease and enjoying himself, but he’s also itching to put him back in that headspace, overcome by desire and shamelessly eager for Castiel’s affections. It doesn’t seem that Dean allows himself to get into such a state too often.

Castiel considers being affronted by the question, as he’s not _completely_ clueless. “Theoretically,” he eventually replies, because he may not have practical experience with this in particular, but he’s sufficiently familiar with the mechanics, confident he’ll be careful and thorough enough to do it right.

Dean seems to contemplate Castiel’s somewhat undecisive response. “I can, uh,” he says, trailing off, but Castiel can tell by the blush on his face and his vague, nearly incomprehensible hand gesturing what he’s implying. “If you want.”

Castiel considers what he’s being offered. He doesn’t need a demonstration, per se – he undoubtedly wants to partake in every step of this himself – but he’s more than willing to seize this opportunity, to see Dean touch himself that way, open himself up for Castiel.

It’s a constant game that Castiel has to play, debating over whether he should reveal his knowledge or keep appearing ignorant to see if it gets him anywhere. “All right,” he says as he hands Dean the bottle, trying to sound casual. “Show me.”

A bit of heat slips into his voice at the end, betraying his interest. But Dean looks quite into the proceedings himself, maybe picking up on the fact that Castiel doesn’t need this, he just _wants_ to see. Maybe Dean wants him to see too.

Castiel looks on, enraptured, as Dean flips open the lid, slight tremor in his hands, slicking up a finger and reaching down between his spread legs. He draws a few teasing circles before he slowly slipping it inside himself, eyelids fluttering, cheeks pink. He’s so _beautiful_ , and Castiel has to resist the urge to tell him again, at least for the moment. He doesn’t want Dean to get distracted from this.

He rests a hand on Dean’s thigh, caressing the soft, freckled skin there, listening intently to Dean’s breathy sighs of pleasure as he works his finger steadily back and forth, already adding another and biting back a groan at the intrusion.

“You like this?” Castiel finds himself asking, his voice an almost unrecognizable deep rumble. The answer is fairly obvious, but he wants to hear it from Dean.

Dean trains his gaze on Castiel, eyes glassy, red all the way down to his chest. “Yeah.”

“Do you do this often?”

“Sometimes,” Dean says around a whine, the movements of his hands getting sloppy and desperate.

“Do you think about me?” Castiel’s not sure where he finds the nerve to say it, but now that he has, he’s surprised at how badly he wants it to be true, to know that Dean has pleasured himself like this with Castiel in mind.

“God,” Dean says around an almost hysterical laugh. “Cas, you have no idea.”

Castiel lets his eyes lazily roam Dean’s body, pleased when the attention seems to make Dean squirm even more. “I have some idea.”

“You been thinking about me too?” Dean asks, not bothering to sound casual, the hope visible in his eyes.

“Yes,” Castiel gladly confirms for him. “And I’m starting to realize how inadequate my imagination is.”

Suddenly he can’t stand idly by any longer, coats two of his own fingers and lines them up beside Dean’s. Dean sighs _yeah_ again, head tipping back as Castiel pushes one finger forward. Castiel can just barely detect a faint trembling, chest rapidly rising and falling, seeming to give up on continuing these proceedings himself now that Castiel has gotten involved.

“Let me,” Castiel urges, more than happy to take over.

Dean moves his hand out of the way and curls it around his cock, stroking languidly, his other hand clutching at Castiel’s bicep. Castiel adds another finger, tentative, exploratory, filling the emptiness. Dean shifts restlessly until Castiel goes along with the insistent motions of Dean’s rocking hips, angling his hand just so until Dean hisses _oh fuck_ , touching himself with more urgency. Castiel keeps at that spot, curling his fingers and marveling at the way it makes Dean arch his back and whimper, cock leaking onto his stomach. There’s a heady kind of power to it, more than he’d ever felt flaunting his grace, being able to drive Dean to madness with just the pressure of two fingers.

Castiel’s poised to add a third finger, and Dean murmurs encouragement before Castiel even has the chance to check in. He knows it must be a tighter stretch now, but Dean seems to revel in it, pulling Castiel into a kiss, only to break away with a groan when Castiel quickens his ministrations.

“Cas,” Dean gasps, sounding strained, and Castiel’s concerned for only a second before he realizes that Dean’s just pleading with him to get on with it.

That makes Castiel impatient too, yet all the more determined to take his time with this. He’s not done playing with Dean, seeing him so plainly enjoying this. Castiel likes this too.

Dean allows him to continue for a few minutes, until he’s relaxed and pliant for Castiel, but his patience has clearly run out. “Cas, c’mon,” he says, renewed urgency in his voice. “I need you,” he breaths, words seeming to tumble out before he can stop them.

Castiel’s breath hitches at the admission, moved by Dean being so open with him, in feeling _needed_.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Dean continues, something frantic in his eyes that Castiel can’t ignore. “Please.”

Castiel can’t tease him anymore. He’d only be denying himself at this point too.

As soon as he withdraws his fingers and sits back, Dean reaches for the discarded bottle. He wraps his strong, slick hand around Castiel’s cock and gives it a few confident strokes, exhaling shakily and smiling up at Castiel, radiating nerves and excitement. Castiel knows just how he feels. It occurs to him how much he’s been neglecting his own arousal as he pushes into Dean’s touch, letting out a loud groan.

He leans down to kiss Dean again, so easily lost in the plush heat of his mouth. But before long, he can feel Dean getting restless, breaking their kiss again. “Cas,” he pleads, a bit of frustration creeping in.

“Okay,” Castiel mutters reassuringly, shifting into a better position and watching Dean’s face for a moment. “I suppose I don’t have to ask you if you’re ready?”

His sly comment elicits a snort of amusement from Dean, lips quirked on one side. “Just go slow. It’s…” He trails off for a moment, expression turning more serious. “It’s been a while.”

“So you _have_ done this before,” Castiel finds himself thinking aloud. He had wondered about it, if this was truly an indulgence Dean enjoyed, if he ever allowed himself to pursue it.

Dean swallows, his eyes searching. “Yeah.”

“And you’ve liked it?”

“Yeah,” Dean says eventually.

“I want to make this good for you,” Castiel confesses, squaring his jaw, perhaps experiencing a sense of competitiveness with whoever’s done this with Dean before. “I want this to be good.”

“You are,” Dean replies, no hesitation. “It is. Just—” Castiel is poised to push inside him, doesn’t even have to wait for confirmation before Dean is breathing, “C’mon, please.”

Castiel happily complies, sliding forward the slightest bit and then a little bit further, trying not to succumb to the overwhelming sensation of having Dean like this.

Dean’s breath is shallow, brow pinched as Castiel continues. “ _Fuck_.”

Castiel stops immediately. “Are you all right?”

“Keep going,” Dean insists, which isn’t an answer, but Castiel trusts him enough to be clear if he’s not enjoying himself.

Castiel heeds Dean’s request, the slow pace torturous, almost too much for him – he can’t even imagine what it’s like for Dean.

Dean whispers, “Oh, _shit_ ,” when Castiel is finally fully seated, breathless with exhilaration, and Castiel mentally echoes the sentiment. This is already incredible, and they’ve barely started, just the idea of what they’re doing enough to get his heart pounding.

Castiel looks into Dean’s eyes, surprised to find them glazed over with tears. “Took you long enough,” Dean teases, as if his forced laugh distracts Castiel from the raw emotion in his gaze.

Castiel cups Dean’s face in one hand, thumb wiping away a tear before it spills onto his cheek. “I couldn’t rush this.”

Dean just nods, pulls Castiel down to kiss him as they both adjust. They keep at it until Dean’s squirming impatiently, cock grinding against Castiel’s stomach as he whines in the back of his throat.

He makes a discontented sound when Castiel pulls away, but his pout fades when Castiel braces himself and tries rolling his hips, just a slow back and forth at first, thrusts longer and deeper until he withdraws almost completely, Dean groaning when he pushes all the way inside again.

Castiel starts to find his rhythm, spurred on by the noises Dean’s making, the way his fingers dig into Castiel’s hips, his shoulders.

“Feels good, Cas,” Dean breathes, so quiet and slurred with pleasure that Castiel almost misses it. “You feel so good.”

Pride rushes through Castiel at the compliment, mingling with the simmering heat in his belly, arousal ratcheting even higher. He can tell that it’s difficult for Dean to be so open with him, but he’s trying because he wants to do that for Castiel.

“So do you,” Castiel replies, because Dean deserves that compliment and many more besides. He leans in to get his mouth on Dean’s jaw, his neck, his collarbones. “You feel incredible. You _look_ incredible.”

Dean goes pink all the way down his chest from the praise, obvious even in the glow of the firelight. “God, Cas.”

His name on Dean’s lips in the midst of passion is a glorious sound he wants to hear so much more of. He can’t stop watching Dean, knowing his face is probably the picture of awestruck reverence, surprised to find something similar in Dean’s expression.

He wonders what Dean is seeing, what’s going through his mind. He knows Dean’s experienced in this, so Castiel can’t imagine he’s the best Dean’s ever had – though he’d certainly like to work towards changing that. But Dean still looks at him in such thrall, eyes wide and green and glassy, face open and trusting as Castiel rocks steadily into him, mouth slack with pleasure, so breathtakingly gorgeous that Castiel almost can’t bear to look at him.

It’s thrilling to see Dean like this, lost in arousal. Castiel had caught glimpses years ago, accidental stolen moments before Castiel fully understood boundaries or decorum – popped in unannounced but undetected only to catch Dean in a private moment then flitted away, contrite, when he realized what he was intruding on. He didn’t think too much of it at the time, and even later, when his feelings for Dean had undeniably changed, he tried not to dwell on it, tempting as it was. Whatever he might have seen was never meant for him.

But this _is_ for him, something Dean is willingly sharing, giving himself over to it so completely, and Castiel is not about to squander the opportunity, the gift he’s been given. He tries to move a bit faster, fascinated by the high, frantic moans torn from Dean’s throat before he slows Castiel down – too much too soon, perhaps – coaxes him into something gentler, a more languorous pace. He searches for a better angle, knows he’s found it by Dean’s strangled gasp, eyes slamming shut, head thrown back. Castiel is helplessly enticed by the smooth expanse of his neck, kisses each freckle still visible in the dim light. Dean’s eyebrows are knitted together, lips bitten, parted on a moan that he raises his hand to stifle. Castiel can’t stand for that, wants to hear every exquisite sound he can draw out of Dean, wants Dean to feel comfortable letting go.

He reaches for Dean’s hand and moves it away from his face, lacing their fingers together, and presses it down beside Dean’s head. Dean’s eyes flutter open and Castiel is lost in them, glazed over but watching Castiel raptly too, shining with interest when Castiel groans, bites his lip. He takes Castiel’s face between his hands and pulls him down to kiss him. Castiel can tell how badly he needs that intimate contact, is glad he takes it for himself. Castiel doesn’t want to deny him anything, but he’s so focused on the task at hand, self-control fraying with each passing second. He’s accustomed to keeping his strength in check, but he’s never felt such a strain on that before. It’s hard to rein in these urges now that he’s been allowed to explore them.

He’s trying to hold himself back from being too forceful, but he’s aching for more, has to speed up just a little. Dean cries out, his fingers gripping Castiel’s hips and digging in, and for a moment Castiel thinks Dean’s about to slow him down again. “You can—” Dean attempts instead, seems to lose his train of thought as Castiel pushes inside him again. “Yeah— fuck, _harder_ ,” he insists, apparently ready for it now.

Castiel obliges, relaxing his restraint now that it seems that Dean wants him to. He’s still mindful of hurting Dean, but he’s starting to realize that although Dean’s precious to him, is certainly more fragile than Castiel, that doesn’t mean he has to treat Dean like glass. Dean can handle more – _wants_ more, apparently. This doesn’t have to be slow and gentle to be passionate or meaningful. Not when they feel the way they do about each other, when that affection comes through regardless of exactly how they do this.

The important thing is that they’re both on the same page. And Castiel certainly is enjoying himself, of course. He’s just in awe of being with Dean like this at all, revels in it even more now that he doesn’t have to hold himself so strictly in check, afraid of doing something wrong. Dean, for his part, obviously has no issue with the way Castiel takes him harder, faster, teeth scraping against his throat. He makes no protest when Castiel uses his hands instead of his words, hands gripping Dean’s legs and easily positioning them to his liking, settling into a new angle that seems to work amazingly for both of them. He has no objections to any other this whatsoever, only a wide-eyed enthusiasm, lips red and chest flushed, voice reduced to a whimper.

It occurs to Castiel that Dean isn’t just trusting him enough to let him explore, but actively craving the attention, willingly – eagerly – ceding control. “You love this,” he thinks aloud, only a breathy whisper, mind fuzzy with arousal, alight with discovery.

Dean makes a vague noise of assent, either too embarrassed or too far gone to confirm more coherently. It’s not even clear what Castiel is referring to, specifically, but he seems to love all of it – tender, rough, soaking up any affection Castiel can give him.

Castiel didn’t know Dean would be like this. Or—maybe that isn’t surprising in itself, but he’s taken aback to see Dean allowing himself to be this way, that he’s been craving it so badly that it overrides all his hangups, his incessant denial and posturing. Castiel can scarcely imagine how many times Dean’s been expected to be strong and take care of everything. Castiel would do anything to relieve him of that burden. His motivations aren’t pure, perhaps – it undoubtedly fulfills some primal, protective part of him to have Dean put himself into Castiel’s hands like this – but if this is something Dean needs, then Castiel can’t conceive of anything easier, anything more natural to provide.

He seems to be doing all right so far. Dean is the absolute picture of surrender, and Castiel keenly notes how he’s breathing more heavily, a deeper urgency in the way he cries out when Castiel speeds up just a fraction more.

“God,” Dean gasps. “Cas, I’m—” He chokes on his words and gets no further, reaching down to touch himself again. Castiel’s own arousal spikes, sharpened by the absolute thrill of knowing that Dean’s almost there already.

“Let me,” Castiel gently insists, urging Dean’s hand aside and replacing it with his own. As compelling a sight Dean makes, Castiel’s not content to just watch this time, covetous of Dean’s pleasure. He wants to be solely responsible for coaxing Dean over that edge.

“Yeah,” Dean mutters on a shaky exhale, nodding in acquiescence, eyes slipping closed. He swears under his breath, then louder, chanting Castiel’s name between broken moans, pushing into Castiel’s firm grip.

Castiel is fast approaching his peak as well, and he _needs_ to see Dean get there first, murmurs his name in encouragement while Dean shudders beneath him, chest heaving.

When Dean comes, Castiel feels it too, Dean’s body drawn taut as he spills over Castiel’s fingers. His back bows off the floor, grip tight on the back of Castiel’s neck, and the sound he makes nearly undoes Castiel right then. The rush that he feels bringing Dean to orgasm is unlike anything he’s ever known, and he wants to do it over and over and _over_ again, memorize and perfect every single thing that brings Dean pleasure, makes him pant and shake and cry out.

Dean’s climax seems to go on for ages until Dean’s finally reduced to a whimpering mess, and Castiel’s forced to slow his pace as Dean comes down. Not just to give Dean a chance to recover, but to pull himself back from the edge. He can’t quite stop himself from moving entirely, minute hitches back and forth that Dean eventually rolls his hips to meet, encouraging Castiel to find his rhythm again, sighing happily against Castiel’s cheek.

“You close, Cas?” he asks, whispered against Castiel’s ear, voice slurred and satisfied in a way that stirs up a dark sense of gratification in Castiel’s chest.

He is—urgently so, no longer needing to hold off for Dean’s sake, confronted with the sight of Dean red-faced and sated and spattered with his own release and knowing _he_ did that. “Yes,” he replies, voice strained. “Should I…?” He’s uncertain how to finish that thought, hopes Dean understands what he’s asking.

“You’re good,” Dean replies, no hesitation. “Just keep going.” Castiel suspects he’s aiming for nonchalant, but he doesn’t quite manage it, and any semblance of a cool façade shatters almost immediately. “Fuck,” he groans as Castiel falls into a quick steady pace, “Want you to—stay like this. Please—” he manages haltingly. He still has the capacity to blush over what he’s asking for, and it’s like he can’t believe he’s saying it but can’t bring himself to stop. Even utterly spent, he can’t help but beg for everything Castiel can give him.

Just that permission, the idea that Dean would allow this, that he’s _eager_ for it, has Castiel’s movements going erratic as he teeters on the brink of orgasm. Dean’s breath catches when Castiel tips over the edge, burying his face against Dean’s neck, muffling his moans as the tension building in his stomach finally bubbles over. He slows to savor the slick heat of Dean’s body as he pulses inside him, pleasure racking him in waves, rocking forward until the last feeble twitch, until it gets to be too much and he has to withdraw, immediately missing that intimacy and connection.

Castiel’s breath is short and shallow as he presses his lips to Dean’s throat, weight sagging against him. Dean sighs and shivers at the contact, rubbing his hand up and down Castiel’s back, murmuring soothing snatches of words as if to ground him, but when Castiel pulls back, Dean’s the one with tears shining in his eyes, trembling beneath him.

Castiel shifts onto his side and Dean goes with him, still clinging, still urging Castiel closer to kiss him. Castiel indulges him, only breaking away for a brief moment to hastily clean them up, dragging the blanket down from the couch to cover them.

When they part again, Dean is thoughtful, quiet, maybe more than Castiel has ever seen him. He’d sort of expected Dean’s playful side to return without the fog of lust clouding it over, but it seems as though he was wrong. Castiel can see the air of restlessness, but knows instinctively that it isn’t a bad thing, isn’t regret or discomfort. This is Dean realizing his guard is down, that he’s letting Castiel see him this way, wide-eyed and soft and vulnerable, and Castiel will handle this moment, handle _Dean_ as carefully as he knows how.

They lie facing one another, and Castiel lets his fingers brush Dean’s cheek, so aware of even the slight distance between them; he wants to pull Dean close, but he can’t bear to look away from him right now, searching his face for everything he’s not saying.

“It’s never been like this with anyone before,” Dean says at last, voice small and tone inscrutable, eyes darting away from Castiel’s until he seems to find the courage to hold Castiel’s gaze.

“Oh,” Castiel says, at a loss for what else he could say, no idea what Dean means by that, no idea if he should be worried.

But then Castiel can see it clearly, the moment that Dean lets his nervousness settle into palpable relief, as if it’s finally sinking in that he put himself out there and nothing bad happened. Castiel is proud that he can provide Dean with that kind of reassurance and security, that Dean’s trust in him isn’t misplaced.

“That’s a compliment, you know,” Dean clarifies, mouth quirking on one side, expression still serious but fond as well.

“Oh,” Castiel says again, just as lost for words as before, overcome with an entirely different sort of self-satisfaction. Castiel has fewer points of comparison than Dean does, but he knows what they just shared tonight was undoubtedly good. He knows it will be even better next time, too, and every time after that.

“Just… different,” Dean says, palm against Castiel’s cheek as he shifts further into Castiel’s space. “You’re different. In a good way, obviously.”

The way he smiles at Castiel then is absolutely breathtaking, the carefree laugh he can’t contain, the light in his eyes. “You’re different in a good way too,” Castiel replies, heartbeat picking up all over again as Dean grins wider, brighter, then leans in for a kiss. Castiel used to wonder if that was true, if his scope of humans was too small to be sure or objective. But Dean is special; he knows that now undeniably, and perhaps Castiel’s opinion isn’t as unbiased as he’d like to think after all, but he’s certain that he doesn’t care.

Later that night when they’ve managed to make it to bed and Dean’s sound asleep, curled up against him, Castiel lies awake for a while just watching him. Castiel is forever in awe of his loveliness but especially so now, Dean relaxed and at peace, leaning into Castiel’s touch like a plant seeking sunlight, a contented sigh escaping his lips when Castiel hugs him closer, kisses the crown of his head, Dean’s soft hair a ticklish but welcome sensation against his lips.

Castiel’s come to realize just how badly Dean craves affection, being touched with gentleness or just being held. He wonders how long Dean’s been needing that but forced to go unfulfilled, unwilling to ask even if he were presented with an opportunity. Castiel can think of no greater honor than to provide him with that. It’s profoundly rewarding to give Dean that comfort and protection, to know that Dean will let him, will enjoy it. Castiel’s made mistakes in his life, but being here like this, keeping Dean safely wrapped up in his embrace, he knows he’s doing something right.

*   *   *

Dean wakes up to Cas’s steady breathing, chest rising and falling beneath Dean’s cheek. He snuggles in further just to feel Cas’s arms tighten to pull Dean more securely against his body, and he closes his eyes for another moment, soaking up this feeling of safety and contentment, savoring for all it’s worth. He never gets to have anything like this, was never even on his radar of absurd and embarrassing fantasies because it seemed too farfetched to even think of hoping for, but there they are.

Cas kisses the top of his head, and Dean leans back to find Cas’s eyes, feeling warm all over from the fondness he finds there. “Hey.”

“Good morning.” Cas looks like he’s been awake for a while. Dean wonders idly if he slept at all, if he just spent the entire night holding Dean. His stomach flips at the thought of it, and screw morning breath, he’s gotta kiss Cas _right now_.

He keeps it brief – for now – hands framing Cas’s face when he pulls away, fingers grazing the thick stubble lining his jaw. “Getting a little scruffy there, Cas,” he teases.

“I can shave.”

“I didn’t say that,” Dean quickly replies.

It’s a good look on him, not just the five o’clock shadow, but the way he grins at Dean, cheek dimpling beneath Dean’s palm. “Is that so?” Cas asks, eyebrow quirking in a way that Dean’s not really used to seeing but knows he definitely likes, pleasant memories from last night still fresh in his mind.

Cas leans in, brushes his lips against Dean’s throat, and Dean has to stifle a giddy laugh at the tickling but thrilling sensation of Cas’s beard on his skin.

Whatever few honest-to-god morning afters Dean’s had were nothing like this, an almost shy smile on his face instead of a cocky smirk, wrestling with the urge to get closer, closer, _closer_ and never leave, instead of bailing at the first opportunity and never looking back – sometimes wanting to stay, but knowing it was better if he didn’t. Nothing about staying feels wrong now.

“You want coffee?” he asks after a few beats of comfortable silence. That’s about the furthest thing from his mind, but it’s a force of habit at this point.

Cas hums in deliberation, a deep rumble that Dean feels all the way down to his toes. “Not yet,” he says, nosing at Dean’s neck with more intent this time, the press of his mouth more insistent. “Let’s stay here for a while.”

He shifts Dean onto his back, and Dean’s heart pounds at the feeling of Cas’s huge hands on his thighs, coaxing them apart so Cas can slide between. Dean didn’t need convincing to stay right where he is, Cas’s warm, solid weight on top of him, but Cas is very persuasive nonetheless.

They don’t get out of bed until much later. In fact, for the next couple of days, they hardly get out of bed at all.

Dean had wondered in the past about how _compatible_ they’d be that way, though he had some suspicions based on compelling evidence. Now he knows that any inklings he might’ve had were spot on but fell comically short of how good the reality would be. He also wasn’t sure how interested Cas was in this kinda stuff in general, but he should’ve known better than to underestimate Cas’s interest where Dean is concerned.

Cas is a quick study and a relentlessly determined student, committed to _learning_ him; Dean wasn’t lying when he said it’s never been like this, being with someone he cares about as much as Cas, but also someone as dedicated to making it good for Dean, putting him first. Dean’s not really used to that, but he’s not complaining. For once, he’s not going to fight something that feels right, just for the sake of principles or appearances. It’s liberating to know that he can let go and have Cas take the reins. Cas doesn’t expect him to be a certain way, won’t judge him for the things he wants.

Dean might be learning himself a little too.

He can’t really be surprised that being with Cas can be pretty damn emotional, that sometimes he could literally fucking cry over how good it feels for someone to look at him that way, to touch him so tenderly – someone, but Cas especially.

It’s so rare for Dean that someone wants him like this, not because he’s an available warm body but because of who he is. Dean actually lets himself believe that this is something he’ll get to hold onto, because the alternative is just too much. There’s no going back from this.

When they do make it out of bed, they easily fall into comfortable idleness and routine, moments where they can just exist quietly next to each other. That’s not new, but it’s something Dean clings to more tightly than ever.

One afternoon, Dean finds a box of board games in the closet, wondering if he’ll have more luck playing Monopoly with Cas than with playing cards. They’ve stayed together through the most dire situations, death included, but there’s no greater test of a relationship than Monopoly. It’s lucky that Dean’s in too good of a mood out here to even get jokingly angry, even though it looks like Cas is going to beat him _again_. When the tides start to turn, Dean only has a few moments to be smug before he starts getting suspicious.

“Are you letting me win?”

Cas just shrugs, looking innocent, and says nothing.

Maybe it isn’t the purest victory, but Dean’ll still take it.

When they put the game away, Dean’s eye is drawn to the jigsaw puzzle he’d quickly passed over the first time around. Cas is on board, so they clear a space on the rug in front of the fire again. Dean’s instantly reminded of the last time they were down here, but he’s going to focus on the task at hand. They’ll get back to that eventually.

Dean upturns the box and they both start to spread out the pieces, already in sync. It’s silly, maybe, but it feels good to Dean this this is something they can work on together, not against each other. There aren’t any winners or losers here.

Dean always thought this kind of thing would bore him, that he’d go crazy spending his time on something lowkey and calm without hunting to occupy himself. But maybe that’s only when he’s mostly got himself and his thoughts for company. The company is definitely a lot better now.

“Have you ever ridden in a hot air balloon?” Cas asks, slotting in the piece of a red stripe that Dean’s spent the last five minutes searching for.

Dean’s caught off-guard by the question, and he hesitates, looking at the picture on the box, seeing how high the basket is suspended off the ground. “I’m, uh, not great with heights,” he admits, the truth rolling out before he can even think to keep that phobia a secret. “I’d try it, though,” he adds, because he doesn’t want to seem like he’s turning Cas down. It’s also true; he probably wouldn’t be as freaked out with Cas there. He keeps that part to himself though.

Cas smiles in understanding. “We could do something else.”

Something about that stirs up heat in Dean’s chest, that confirmation that it wasn’t just a throwaway suggestion – Cas wants to _do_ things with him, thinks about their future.

“Like what?”

“Anything,” Cas says easily, like they’ve got forever to figure that out. Dean realizes with a jolt of elation that that’s kinda true.

Dean pauses and thinks about it, surprised at how many ideas spring to mind now that he’s letting them. “Always wanted to spend more time at the beach,” he says after a beat or two, starting with the basics.

“That sounds nice,” Cas says sincerely, watching Dean instead of working on the puzzle. “Which beach?”

“I dunno.” Dean’s never gotten that far, never thought that particular fantasy was really in reach. “Anywhere, I guess.”

“As long as it’s somewhere we can drive,” Cas says knowingly.

Dean’s heart swells at the idea of it, him and Cas on a beach road trip, soaking up the sun, slathering each other with sunscreen. “Yeah,” he says with an undoubtedly goofy grin. He can’t help himself – there’s just something so exciting about how Cas _gets_ him. “Exactly.”

With the two of them working together, the pile of pieces steadily starts to dwindle, but the sense of impending triumph is cruelly squashed as Dean fits in the last piece they have, only to leave them with three spots still empty.

“Are you kidding me?” Dean grumbles, lifting the box up, scanning the carpet around them to no avail. So much for there not being any losers.

He glances at Cas in frustration, only to find him smiling serenely. “It doesn’t have to be perfect,” Cas says, infinitely casual, but something about hearing him say that, the underlying sentiment behind it, hits Dean like a ton of bricks.

He doesn’t know what to say to that, and he thinks back to Cas’s suggestion a few nights back, the first time they shared a bed – it seems like an eternity ago, and he’s struck by how far they’ve come in a couple short days, but he supposes that’s on top of the ten years since they met – and kisses him instead.

*   *   *

Castiel’s aware of how Dean reacts to him, the way he responds to Castiel’s touch, even if it’s nothing more than a friendly gesture. The more he’s been allowed to explore this side of their relationship, the more he’s realized that Dean is absolutely aching for contact. And Castiel aches to give it to him.

He understands how much physical affection means to Dean – it’s easier for him, simpler to process and reciprocate – but he’s amazed by the intimacy Dean allows, that he thrives on, beyond what Castiel would have thought to expect.

One evening finds them relaxing together in the tub. Castiel was skeptical about the two of them fitting, but Dean was obviously determined to try, and there was no way Castiel could deny him.

It is a bit of a tight squeeze, as it turns out, but it’s worth it, lounging back with Dean sitting in front of him, utterly at ease in Castiel’s embrace. That alone warms him up even more than the water.

“God,” Dean sighs, a pleasant weight against Castiel’s chest. “I haven’t done this in—” he pauses, continues with a chuckle. “Uh, ever I guess.”

Something about that admission thrills Castiel, that he’s able to do anything with Dean for the first time, discover something new together. Castiel can’t wait to find more.

He hums in acknowledgment. It’s not just Dean who’s the picture of calm and contentment. Castiel would almost say he’s knowing peace for the first time – just him and Dean, completely removed from the world. He has reason to suspect it’s the same for Dean. Part of him fears this blissful spell will shatter once they leave this place behind, but that only makes him more determined to treasure it while he can.

He’s taking the opportunity to admire the bits of Dean that he can see from this vantage point – the soft skin of his throat, his broad freckled shoulders – when he spots a dark red mark right in the curve of his neck.

His fingers trace the spot thoughtfully. “Is this…?” he asks, although he knows the answer, vividly remembers pressing his mouth there last night while Dean writhed and moaned beneath him.

“Yup,” Dean says with a laugh. “Really did a number on me.”

Dean lets Castiel tilt his head for further inspection, tracing a path until he finds another mark just under Dean’s jaw. “I can get rid of them,” he offers, guilt swirling in his stomach.

Dean laughs even louder this time. “Don’t you dare.”

For a moment, that confuses Castiel. But then he starts to think about the faint bruises on his hips and shoulders, evidence of Dean’s clutching fingers. He could have easily healed those too, but he wants to keep them for as long as possible. It gives him a fierce sense of pride and self-satisfaction to know that Dean wants to keep his marks.

“All right,” he breathes into Dean’s ear, letting his voice drop low. He doesn’t miss the way Dean squirms ever so slightly at that, pulse thrumming beneath Castiel’s fingers.

They didn’t come in here with carnal intentions, shockingly enough, but Castiel can hardly help himself, seeing how Dean reacts when Castiel mouths that spot on his neck again, hands roaming his torso, teasing his nipples and eventually sliding his hand down Dean’s stomach to wrap around him in a firm grip. Dean sighs Castiel’s name and arches into his touch, giving himself over completely until eventually he comes with a loud moan, shaking in Castiel’s arms. Maybe it’s not just Dean who needs this kind of intimacy; it’s just another way to experience their connection, and now that Castiel knows what it’s like to be with him this way, he couldn’t imagine giving it up.

He’s glad that Dean doesn’t rush to reciprocate, enjoying it because it was just for him, allowing himself to bask in the moment as Castiel kisses the top of his head.

Though when he _does_ reciprocate, offering the soft heat of his mouth for Castiel’s pleasure, he’s pretty glad about that too.

As enjoyable as their time is spent indoors, when it’s bright and sunny enough for it to be worth going outside, they try to take advantage of it, bringing their coffee out to the porch swing one afternoon. It’s still a bit cold, enough to justify bringing a blanket, and Castiel smiles to himself at how readily Dean moves in close once they spread it over themselves.

Castiel hasn’t forgotten what a rare sight this is, Dean looking so peaceful and contemplative, gazing out over the lake. He must feel pressure to fill the empty spaces with chatter, sometimes, either for his own sake or for others. But maybe he’s started to realize that Castiel doesn’t need that from him, that just being here is enough.

“Hell of a view,” Dean remarks after a while, breaking their comfortable silence.

Castiel’s inclined to agree. He’s seen Earth’s beauty from on high for an unfathomable number of years, but he’s never appreciated it as much as he does from this perspective, especially with Dean at his side.

He turns to look at Dean, because as breathtaking as the scenery is, there’s no sight more compelling to Castiel. “Yes,” he says almost dreamily, admiring the shape of Dean’s mouth, the slope of his nose, the brightness of his eyes.

Dean finally spots him staring, apparently catches on to Castiel’s not-so-subtle implication that Dean is the view that Castiel finds the most inspiring. “Oh my god,” he mutters, aiming for exasperated, as if that covers up for the way his cheeks are quickly turning pink. Castiel’s growing to enjoy the fact that he can make Dean blush.

For all Dean’s faux grumpiness, he can’t entirely fight a pleased little grin, unable to hide that he’s flattered by Castiel’s appreciative gaze. Castiel’s gratified to see that, because he can’t imagine himself breaking that habit anytime soon.

Dean is just too impossibly lovely to ignore. Castiel used to liken the intrigue he felt to scientific fascination, but it was so much harder not to stare once he knew exactly why he was so interested in doing so. And now that he knows what Dean looks like with a soft, private smile, or flushed and panting, lips bitten, Castiel’s loathe to take his eyes off Dean for even a moment. He especially has no chance of being discreet now that he not only has Dean’s tacit permission, but his implicit encouragement as well.

Like when he’s got Dean bare and spread out on the bed, taking a long moment just to drink him in, and Dean obviously has no issue with Castiel _just looking all day_ , growing steadily harder under Castiel’s intent regard, eyes impossibly dark with desire rivaling Castiel’s own.

Or afterwards, when Castiel’s enthralled by a love bite he left on Dean, fresh on the smooth skin of his thigh, touching it reverently while Dean smiles at him, gentle but not shy.

Then they take another hike up the mountain – a more leisurely trek this time, less lingering tension, less complaining from Dean. He takes Castiel’s hand unprompted, still looking embarrassed; Castiel finds that hopelessly endearing, that for everything they’ve done together, this is where Dean’s nervousness factors in the most. They reach the highest point in the trail and take a moment simply to admire it. Dean steps away to get closer to the edge, his fear of heights apparently not enough to stop him from getting the most out of this. He looks so beautiful and so serene in that moment, silhouetted by the setting sun against a magnificent backdrop, that Castiel had to covertly retrieve his phone from his pocket, pulling up the camera to memorialize the scene in front of him.

Dean turns and catches him when he greedily takes a third picture, just in case. He blinks and raises an eyebrow at Castiel. “Did you just…?”

Castiel quickly puts his phone away, about to apologize when he sees the amused look on Dean’s face. Instead he grins, heart pounding when Dean does the same. “I couldn’t resist.”

Dean saunters over to him, a glint in his eye. “Well, if you wanna take pictures so bad,” he says, lowering his voice to an intimate murmur, “Maybe we can do that when we get back to the cabin.”

The implication isn’t lost on Castiel, and he’s nearly undone by a sudden pang of desire just at the idea of it. “You’d let me do that?”

“Sure,” Dean says, trying to sound nonchalant, as if his own interest isn’t painfully clear. “Long as you don’t show anybody,” he teases with a smirk.

“Of course not,” Castiel replies, vehement. “They’re for me.” He’s taken aback by the hint of possessiveness in his voice, but Dean looks anything but put off by it.

Later, when they’re both sweaty and sated, Dean turns to him with a smile that makes Castiel’s slowing heartrate speed right back up, curling in close without prompting, tucking himself against Castiel’s side like he belongs there. And as far as Castiel’s concerned, he does.

*   *   *

For the rest of their stay at the cabin, most of their time is spent, well… predictably. Dean can’t keep his hands off Cas and it’s insanely flattering to see that the feeling is obviously mutual. They’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for, and they’ve barely scratched the surface of exploring everything Dean’s been wanting, everything he’s fantasized about when he’s dared to let his mind wander.

Of course, they do need a break every once in a while, and they settle into the quiet downtime that Dean’s already come to expect. Sometimes it’s just the two of them relaxing on the couch, Cas with a book he’s super into at the moment – Dean might ask to borrow it when he’s done – and Dean working on a crossword booklet he found in the end table drawer. He’s actually doing pretty well until twenty-seven across gives him trouble.

“What’s a ten-letter word for untruthful?” he asks, thoughtfully tapping the end of his pen against his bottom lip.

“Mendacious,” Cas replies instantly, not even looking up from his reading.

Dean smirks to himself as he fills it in – hey, he had five and nine down right after all. “Knew you’d know it,” he says, grinning wider at the pleased smile on Cas’s face.

What’s less predictable is that they spend long hours just… _talking_ – about Cas’s life before, about Dean’s life too. Shit he’s never talked about with anyone. Stuff not even Sam knows. It just feels easier here, removed from all other distractions, and things come pouring out. His secrets, his fears, memories of his childhood and his dad that he’d buried deep, never heard himself say out loud before.

He starts to think maybe there was a reason he didn’t like to dredge those kinda things up. It makes it impossible to ignore everything he’s missed out on in his life, how long he’s been committed to a path that he never really got to choose.

It used to make him feel hopeless, because he couldn’t even conceive of an alternative, any avenue towards a different life. No sense dwelling on what he couldn’t change. But over time, this past week in particular, he’s started to think his options might not be so limited.

“Sometimes, I wonder—” he thinks out loud, breaking the silence they’ve lapsed into, lying in bed at that nebulous time of day he could either label very late night or very early morning. “Sometimes I wonder… Christ, what would I even be doing if I grew up normal?” He pauses and takes a breath, nestles further into Cas’s side, Cas’s fingers in his hair. “Or maybe… I dunno. Maybe it’s not too late for normal now.” Still crazy to even think it, let alone actually suggest it aloud.

“Do you ever think about it? Leaving… the life?” Cas asks, quickly picking up on what Dean’s not explicitly saying.

It wasn’t so long ago that Dean’s answer would have been a resounding _fuck no_. “Yeah,” Dean replies, surprised how effortlessly the admission rolls off his tongue. “Especially now that we’re… yeah.”

Life without hunting used to be this faceless uncertainty, and he had no idea of what that would be other than a jarring absence of everything he’s been forced to build his life around. But he knows now: it’d be something just like this, and that doesn’t seem so terrifying at all.

“But I don’t—y’know—” He pauses and collects his thoughts, knowing that Cas will be patient with him. “Don’t understand how to just… walk away. _Retire_.”

Cas hums thoughtfully. “The same way anyone retires, I suppose. Realize you’ve already given so much, and trust others to take up the work in your place.”

There’s a small, scared, petty part of him that wants to dismiss that – what does Cas know about that kinda thing, really? – but Dean guesses he understand better than most when to leave something behind, even if it’s all you’ve ever known.

“The entire world isn’t your responsibility, Dean,” Cas continues. “You’ve done more than anyone could ever ask of you. You deserve to rest,” he says with conviction. Then, more hesitantly, “If that’s what you want.”

The thought of throwing himself head first into hunting has appealed to him less and less lately. That level of dedication to work definitely loses its shine when he’s not using it as an excuse to run away from his problems. When he could be doing something so much better instead.

Dean had always thought he could never handle not working. but he’s never really been able to try it – not on his own terms. “I might,” Dean says after a stretch of silence, even though he knows Cas isn’t expecting him to reply. He needs to hear himself say it. “Wouldn’t even have considered it before. I guess things are different for me now though.”

Cas hums thoughtfully. “What’s different?”

“Everything.” He pauses, thinking. “You.” Cas doesn’t say anything, just keeps stroking Dean’s back and lets him continue. “Lotta things changed for me when we met.”

“Like what?”

Dean almost scoffs at the question because c’mon, Cas probably knows already. But after a beat he realizes that although Cas can read Dean with terrifying accuracy sometimes, even he has his limits. Some things he’s just not going to understand unless Dean finds the nerve to tell him.

“Well, I started believing in angels, for one. Something not human that was actually good, actually on _my_ side.” He doesn’t mean to come out so baldly sincere, to be so obvious about how much that discovery affected him, but he figures he’s pretty far past playing it cool when it comes to Cas. “Took me a while to wrap my brain around that one, though,” he adds, smirking to himself. “Thought you were a dick at first.”

Cas snorts, and Dean smiles wider at the sound of it. “I _was_ a dick.”

“Hey, you came around. Eventually,” Dean teases.

“You had a lot to do with that.”

That’s not exactly news to Dean, of course, but he’s always been quick to dismiss what it seemed like Cas was doing on his behalf, what he _explicitly expressed_ he was doing for Dean; when he allows himself to think about it, he’s floored by the weight of it, by how far Cas has come, and that Dean was part of it. “Did you— all that stuff you said you did.” Dean pauses and swallows, hopes this isn’t a stupid question. “Did you really do it for me?”

“I had many reasons for doing what I did,” Cas promptly replies, fingers tracing circles on Dean’s back. “But I wouldn’t be here right now if you weren’t the most compelling among them.” Cas shifts them onto their sides so they can look at each other, so he can stare intently into Dean’s eyes, rest his palm against Dean’s cheek. “I know you don’t like to hear this,” he says with a dry chuckle, face apologetic. “But keeping you safe has always been very important to me.”

Dean licks his lips, eyes darting away. “I don’t mind hearing it,” he eventually admits in a soft murmur. “You know,” he says, attempting a lighthearted tone that immediately falls flat, “My mom used to tell me angels were watching over me.” He has to look at Cas then, soak up the adoration on his face. “Guess she was kinda right, huh?”

He studies Cas lying beside him, washed in the moonlight filtering through the curtains, eyes so bright and attentive. He smiles softly at Dean and strokes his cheek, Dean leaning into the touch instantly, overcome by the depth of emotion that surges through him.

“Cas,” he whispers, “I, uh. I just wanted to—” He needs to take a few seconds, reaching out to touch Cas in the hopes that’ll make his hands stop shaking. The ensuing silence is almost enough to make him give up altogether, but he focuses on Cas warm and solid beneath his fingertips and finds the courage to continue. “I know how you feel about me, and—” He’s blindsided by how badly he wants to say it, throat aching, eyes stinging, like it’s about to burst out of him. “I love you too.”

Cas doesn’t say anything, the same fond expression on his face, eyes shining even brighter than before, maybe even glowing, that hint of his grace peeking through. Then he leans in and kisses him, brief and gentle and reassuring.

Dean laughs to himself when they pull away. “Guess that’s not a surprise, huh?”

“I’m glad you told me,” Cas says. Dean’s pretty glad too. “But yes,” he says, lips quirking up at the corners. “I’ve had my suspicions for a while now.”

“A _while_?” Dean asks, eyebrow shooting up. “Damn, what gave me away?”

“It was something I realized slowly. Words and moments here and there, often nothing specific. The longing, though,” Cas says, “That was more telling.”

Dean searches his face, not sure how he feels about what he’s hearing. “You never said anything.”

“Longing takes many forms,” Cas replies, eyes flitting away. “I didn’t know if—” He pauses and looks at Dean again. “I didn’t know if it was for you what it was like for me.”

Dean supposes that with his record of acting in complete opposition to how he actually feels, Cas’s hesitance was probably justified. “How long have— When did you know it was like that for you?” he asks, not sure what he wants the answer to be.

“Dean, I’ve fallen for you so many times now that I couldn’t possibly keep track. But if you want to know when it started, then… I’d have to say that even when I pulled you from Hell, I felt something. But I didn’t understand it then. I didn’t know what it would turn into.”

“I musta made a great first impression,” Dean quips, but he’s fully appreciating it now, that Dean was at his absolute lowest and Cas still saw something in him.

“You were never supposed to be there,” Cas says adamantly. That wasn’t you. I _know_ you, and the person you were there, that’s not you.” He stops for a moment, eyes softening and losing their fire. “You’ve gone through so much more than you should. Than _anyone_ should.”

Dean tries not to think about the burdens he’s been forced to take on, because acknowledging them means facing how heavily they weigh on him. But it doesn’t seem as hard when Cas is here with him, and instead of getting defensive over the sympathy in Cas’s voice, he lets himself be comforted by it.

“Worked out okay in the end though, didn’t it?” Dean replies once he’s curled up to Cas again. “Got me here. I’ve—I’ve been through a lot, but fuck, I wouldn’t have met you if I hadn’t.”

“I can’t imagine it,” Cas says, sounding haunted. “Not knowing you. You’re—” Even Cas, much less tongue tied than Dean over this stuff, not nearly as afraid to be honest about how he feels, is at a loss for words over whatever’s going through his mind. Dean doesn’t need to hear it, though. He can see it clearly, now that he knows to look, and he wonders how he could ever have missed it, the depth of devotion that Cas feels for him. That he feels for Cas too.

Dean doesn’t say this part out loud but… after all the shit he’s been through, everything he’s had to sacrifice… it feels like Cas is his reward for all of it. Their relationship has been a trial in itself at times, but getting through it, getting to _this_ makes it all worth it.

His eyes well up again, threatening to spill over, so he pulls Cas in for a kiss, finished with talking, giving himself over to this feeling of love, of possibility. He can’t imagine not having this either.

He feels like a damn idiot for how he used to be, that the best ending he could possibly see for himself was to die young, guns blazing. He’d always thought that a story like his could only end tragically. Because he could never have imagined, even in his craziest fantasies, anything as overwhelming, as incredible, as loving Cas and being loved by him in return.

*   *   *

There’s something about being out here that has a wonderful effect on Dean. Castiel’s started to realize the depth of Dean’s exhaustion, both physical and mental, now that he’s well-rested and stress free.

Dean’s not different, not exactly, just more _himself_ , the person he gets to be – the person he actually is – when he’s allowed to put his guard down. He wakes up smiling, reaching for Castiel instead of reaching for a weapon.

Castiel’s seen that side of him hiding beneath the surface for years now, has caught all too fleeting glimpses of it, eager to peel back the layers and see more. But to Castiel’s surprise, Dean’s shed those layers himself, like he’s been just as anxious to bring out that side of himself as Castiel has, even if he didn’t know it at first. Castiel feels incredibly lucky to witness such a transformation.

Castiel, in a way, feels more like himself as well, more at ease and content with who he is. He’s never been as skilled with or dedicated to a deceptive façade as Dean; his unwillingness, his _inability_ to explore his real feelings and true nature stemmed from a different place than Dean’s, but the results were ultimately the same.

Castiel finds it easier to joke now, to indulge in the kind of leisure that he’d always thought as frivolous compared to the gravity of everything else they had to contend with. It used to be so important that he maintained this stoic, no-nonsense nature, to prove that he was above such things, that he wasn’t weak to that kind of foolish emotion.

Dean, for his part, has always used humor to keep people at arm’s length, but Castiel’s glad to see he uses it to bring people closer too. Castiel lives for those moments, when Dean catches him off-guard with a quip, a sparkle in his eye, clearly trying to get a rise out of Castiel – and then looking positively thrilled when it works and Castiel fires back, startling him into a carefree bark of laughter. Castiel’s always delighted to hear that sound, especially knowing he caused it.

Castiel thrives on their more sober talk almost as much as their lighthearted banter. He never had much use for serious discussion about personal matters. Dean has always tried to act as though he felt the same way, but once he’s given tacit permission to try it, it’s clear how much he’s needed to open up, to confide in someone and unburden himself of all he’s had to bear on his own. And when Castiel does the same, confesses his doubts, his regrets, his fears and insecurities, he realizes that none of those negative thoughts seem so bad when he has someone to share them with. Dean looks just as honored when Castiel lets him in like that. As much as Castiel wants to focus on Dean, to support him unconditionally and be there for him in any way he can, he shouldn’t underestimate the fact that Dean wants to be there for him too.

And between all that, they’re able to just sit together and enjoy the silence. Castiel appreciates that he can hear himself think while still feeling the warmth of Dean beside him. Alone with his thoughts without being lonely. It’s a comfortable stillness, a fulfilling absence of sound rather than a hollow one, not like the isolation that used to creep up on him when he still allied himself with heaven, how alone he felt when he had to be away from Dean. But now, he supposes, he won’t ever be alone again.

Castiel’s leaning against the kitchen counter one morning, gazing out the window, when Dean finally makes an appearance. Castiel’s heart still hammers at the sight of him, sounds even louder in his ears when Dean smiles at him as he saunters over, looking just as smitten as he feels.

“Good morning,” Castiel says, palm resting on Dean’s hip as soon as he’s within reach, unable to bear not touching him.

Dean smiles wider and pulls Castiel into an indulgent kiss, humming contentedly when they part. “Morning.” He pauses for a second, casting a side-long glance at the coffee maker percolating away beside them. “Y’know, you really don’t have to make me coffee every day,” he says. It wasn’t so long ago that Dean might be genuinely annoyed over this, or at least made a convincing show of it. But now Castiel can see that Dean’s secretly pleased, even if he’s struggling to accept it, needing to brush it off.

Dean may think that he doesn’t deserve such gestures, but Castiel is determined to show him how wrong he is. “Of course I don’t have to,” Castiel replies easily, fingers stroking Dean’s cheek. “I want to.” Castiel could laugh at how misguided Dean is in thinking that doing this for him is somehow a burden. He doesn’t realize what a thrill it would be for Castiel.

Dean doesn’t seem to have anything to say to that, just flushes slightly, a fetching pink against his freckles.

Castiel smiles at him. “You’re always so concerned about taking care of everyone else,” he adds, waiting until Dean looks him in the eye before continuing. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe someone should take care of you too?”

Castiel can see the dissention bubbling under the surface. It had been instilled in Dean at such a young age, that it’s his _job_ to look out for the people he loves. It’s a role he’s taken to heart, but not one that he’d chosen for himself. That sort of kindness should never have come at the expense of his own well-being and self-worth.

“Because I’m more than happy to do it,” Castiel says after a few beats pass. “If you’d let me.”

Sam looks out for Dean of course, but not in the way that Dean does for him. It’s hard to match that level of fierce, unwavering selfless devotion. Castiel likes to think he’s up for the task.

“That, um,” Dean attempts, eyes glassy and voice hoarse. “Yeah,” he says at last. “Okay.” Another moment passes before he clears his throat, looking at Castiel with a lop-sided smile. “I’m still making breakfast though.”

“Of course,” Castiel agrees with a faint laugh. “Let me know if you need any help.”

“Sure.”

Castiel thinks it’s an empty platitude at first – though still progress, in a way – but Dean surprises him a few minutes later when he’s at the stove in front of a sizzling pan of bacon.

“Hey Cas?” Dean asks over his shoulder. “Could you grab the eggs for me?”

Castiel readily complies and brings the carton over, setting on the counter, even more pleased when Dean turns to thank him with a kiss. Dean hums into it, indulging for a long moment before pulling away, eyes wandering greedily down Castiel’s bare torso, hand tracing his chest in an appreciative caress.

Dean blushes when they lock eyes again, Castiel quirking one brow. “Uh,” Dean says sheepishly, avoiding his gaze. “Sorry.”

Castiel pulls him closer and presses a kiss to his jaw. “I wasn’t complaining.”

Dean laughs faintly, relaxing further in Castiel’s arms. “Just nice that I get to do that kinda stuff.”

“Oh?” Castiel asks, trace of a mischievous smile forming on his face. “You mean this kinda stuff?” he asks casually, hand sliding from Dean’s waist to his backside and giving it a firm squeeze.

Dean barks out a real laugh this time, equally shocked and delighted, and pulls Castiel back in for a kiss. There’s undeniable heat to it now, and Dean luckily has the good sense to turn off the stove before they give into their desires and thoroughly test the kitchen table for its strength and stability.

It’s a tremendous confidence boost to know that Dean’s so eager for this. Castiel may not have the experience that Dean does, but he likes to think he’s doing okay in that department, and he’s only improving with more practice.

Castiel can see how needy Dean is for any kind of attention, always so physically affectionate with him and absolutely melting when Castiel reciprocates. Castiel again wonders how long Dean’s been craving that kind of tenderness – not just from anyone, but from Castiel in particular.

Castiel’s starting to think he needs it just as badly, to touch Dean as often and in as many ways as possible, whether it’s like the spontaneous expression of lust that interrupted their breakfast, or just holding Dean without the intention of anything else – just enjoying each other’s warmth, Dean strong but soft beneath Castiel’s hands in a way that makes him want to wrap Dean up tighter and shield him from the world. When he’s with Dean like that, Castiel knows that on another plane of reality, beyond Dean’s perception, his wings are folded delicately around Dean, enveloping him in a protective cocoon.

It wasn’t long ago that Dean wouldn’t want to hear of such a thing, to know how badly Castiel wanted to keep him safe. But it’s starting to look like he might be more open to that, more willing to put his trust in Castiel. Castiel’s seeing more and more of that raw vulnerability from Dean – when they’re talking into the late hours, when they’re in the midst of passion. Even when they’re not saying or doing much at all. Like one night when they’re in front of the fire on a rainy night, beside each other in comfortable silence, and there’s a moment when Dean turns to look at him that Castiel sees everything laid bare, the unfettered emotion in Dean’s eyes, every bit of Castiel’s adoration reflected right back at him.

“I love you,” Castiel breathes, completely lost in Dean’s gaze, blindsided all over again by how much he cares for him. “You’re everything to me,” he adds, finding the words that escaped him the other day.

Castiel detects the slightest inhale from Dean, his eyes turning glassy. Dean said he already knew how Castiel felt, but hearing it obviously matters. Castiel intends to show it too, takes Dean to bed again and pours every ounce of love and adoration into it that he can muster. It’s like their first night together like this, landing on that combination of heat and tenderness that absolutely destroys Dean, leaves him shakily gasping _I love you_ when he’s on the verge of climax, chanting it over and over again as if the proverbial dam’s been broken.

Castiel keeps Dean close afterwards as they doze off, tucked up behind Dean, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. Castiel’s proud of Dean for taking the steps to get them out here, grateful they’ve had this wonderful opportunity. He’s reluctant to leave, impossibly tempted to stay in this cozy little bubble they’ve crafted.

But soon Castiel realizes that although he’s treasured their time here, there’s really nothing special about this place; this is all coming with them when they leave. His love for Dean has always followed him everywhere, through time and space, into death and back again. They may be nearing the end of their trip, but it’s only the first chapter in their lives together.

“I love you,” he whispers, not wanting to disturb Dean, hand resting heavily against Dean’s heart.

“Love you too,” is Dean’s slurred response, mostly asleep but awake enough to make sure he returns the sentiment.

Castiel smiles against the back of his neck, knowing that Dean’s likely too out of it to remember this. Castiel will just have to tell him again in the morning, and countless times after that.

He could be content just holding Dean like this, enjoying the moment and watching over him while he gets his rest and some much-needed peace. But Castiel chooses to close his eyes too, impatient to spend tomorrow with Dean. To spend a lifetime with him.

*   *   *

Dean sighs heavily as he slings his duffel bag into the trunk. He knew they couldn’t stay forever, but there’d still been that part of him that was willing to try, that honestly entertained the idea of just leaving everything else behind and permanently living in the woods with Cas.

But he knows that’s not a rational idea. He does have a life back in Kansas, has an actual home to return to, and Cas is part of that.

Besides, they’re running low on food and clean clothes, so he supposes they had to leave _sometime_.

Dean leans back against the side of his car, looking out over the lake one last time. He can recognize, even from a distance, the Douglas fir that he and Cas kissed under a few days ago. He smiles at the memory, but it’s almost bittersweet, because he can’t shake the lingering fear that this is the end, somehow. And to think it was _starting_ something that seemed so scary before.

Dean glances at the cabin when Cas swings the front door open and steps outside, closing it behind him with an unnerving air of finality.

He puts his bag in the car and comes to stand next to Dean, letting him have his moment, sharing the appreciative silence with him.

“Are you ready to go?” Cas asks eventually, voice gentle like he knows how apprehensive Dean’s feeling.

“Yeah,” Dean says half-heartedly, making no attempt to move from this spot. “Back to reality I guess.”

Cas shoots him a funny look. “This is reality,” he says, expression of confusion taken over by dawning concern. “Unless you don’t want it to be.”

Dean realizes that Cas is offering to let this all stay here, giving Dean a chance to go back on this if it’s easier or more comfortable. It’s the stupidest and most generous thing that he’s ever heard Cas say, being so considerate of Dean’s needs even if they might be conflicting with his own.

Dean raises an eyebrow at him. “Is that what _you_ want, Cas?”

“Of course not,” Cas replies, and Dean falls in love all over again at the fierceness in his words, the utter lack of hesitation.

“Yeah,” Dean says, swallowing past a lump in his throat. “Me neither.”

“Good,” Cas says, visibly relaxing. Maybe Dean wasn’t the only one feeling torn about leaving. “Because I had no intention of letting you go,” he adds. “And that would have made the drive back very awkward.”

Dean’s startled into a laugh that echoes off the mountains, getting a double dose of joy because Cas always looks so damn pleased with himself for getting that reaction from Dean. He softens after a moment, turning to Cas with fond eyes. “Let’s go home.”

They get settled in the car, and Cas’s hand immediately slides across the bench seat to reach for Dean’s. “I love you,” he says with a smile, lacing their fingers together.

Dean’s perfectly aware by now how much Cas cares about him, but he’ll take any reminder he can get. He wonders if hearing it will ever get old, but he knows with certainty now that it’s not going to.

Because this is it, right here. What he wants, what he gets to have – for the rest of his life, even, if he allows it. And after years of denial and conflict, of grief and separation, he’s finally ready to do that.

Dean squeezes Cas’s hand, heart pounding. “Love you too.”

For the first time, it feels like enough. Like he could walk away from everything he’s always known and not feel useless or empty. For once, he envisions himself with something that looks an awful lot like happiness.

He can drive off with Cas and be okay knowing that he doesn’t have a case lined up, okay knowing that he’s not even sure when he will. Taking hours to scour the internet and newspapers for leads doesn’t sound so appealing when he could be spending that time with Cas.

But if he does some digging to see if any of his contacts have a vacant beach house available, well… that’s an entirely different story.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this took me over a year to finally finish, but here we are. Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> You can find me on tumblr [here](http://sass-master-stina.tumblr.com).
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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